He understood that an apology would not restore the years of fear he had helped create. It would not bring Samuel or Michael back. It would not erase the false statement he had signed or the teenager he had taken against his will.
Whatever happened next, he would have to face the consequences of his decisions.
Before anyone could speak again, Thomas's phone began to ring.
He glanced at the screen.
The caller's number was unfamiliar.
He almost ignored it.
Then he noticed a message beneath the number.
This is Agent Catherine Walsh. We need to speak with you about Marcus Reed.
Thomas answered immediately.
“This is Thomas Bell.”
“Mr. Bell, I'm Special Agent Catherine Walsh with the federal investigation. We've received information that Marcus may have reached your location.”
Thomas looked at Marcus.
“He's here.”
“Is he safe?”
“He appears to be injured, but he's conscious. He's with me.”
“Is anyone else there?”
Thomas hesitated.
Pike stepped forward.
“Tell her I'm here too.”
Thomas relayed the information.
There was a brief silence on the line.
“Is Aaron Pike with you?” Walsh asked.
“Yes,” Thomas replied.
“I need you to understand that we cannot assume he is trustworthy simply because he has contacted us. We are arranging for a team to meet you. Please do not leave the shop, and do not allow anyone to remove the notebook, the recorder, or the other documents.”
“We have preserved the recorder and made working copies without changing the original.”
“Good. Do not send the files to anyone else until our team arrives. We need to document how the material was obtained and assess its authenticity.”
Thomas agreed.
Walsh continued.
“Marcus, if you can hear me, I want you to know that we have been looking for you. You are not under arrest by our office, and we want to make sure you're safe. If you need medical attention, tell Mr. Bell, and we will arrange it.”
Marcus leaned toward the phone.
“Is Ms. Brooks there?”
“Yes,” Walsh answered. “She is safe.”
Marcus closed his eyes briefly.
“Can I talk to her?”
“I'll arrange that as soon as possible.”
“Please tell her I have my father's notebook.”
“I will.”
The call ended.
Thomas locked the front door and pulled the blinds closed.
Outside, Mercer Street continued its ordinary afternoon rhythm. People came and went from the bakery. A delivery driver unloaded boxes. A woman walked past with a small dog.
But inside the repair shop, three men sat surrounded by evidence that might finally explain two deaths and expose a network of corruption that had survived for more than a decade.
Marcus held his father's notebook.
Pike sat with his hands clasped between his knees.
Thomas watched the door.
They had found the second recording.
They had identified another name connected to the missing evidence.
And federal investigators were on their way.
For the first time since his disappearance, Marcus felt that the truth might be within reach.
Then Thomas's computer chimed.
A new message had appeared in the email account he used for business.
There was no subject line.
No greeting.
Only one sentence.
If you give them the recording, the next funeral will be yours.
Thomas read it twice.
Pike rose from his chair.
“Don't reply.”
Marcus stared at the screen.
“Who sent it?”
Thomas checked the message details.
The sender's address was a random combination of letters and numbers, routed through several services. It revealed nothing immediately useful about the person behind it.
But beneath the message was a photograph.
It showed Thomas standing outside Bell Electronics earlier that morning, carrying the same paper bag he had brought into the shop.
Someone had been watching him long before Marcus arrived.
The photograph had been taken from across the street.
Marcus felt his earlier relief disappear.
The people responsible for hiding the evidence had not simply learned that the recorder existed.
They had been monitoring the people who might possess it.
Pike walked toward the window and carefully lifted one corner of the blind.
He scanned the street.
Nothing looked unusual.
That was the problem.
Whoever had taken the photograph had blended into the ordinary life of Bellhaven so completely that no one had noticed.
Thomas turned away from the screen.
“We need to get this message to the investigators.”
“Already,” Pike said. “And we need to tell them about the sedan.”
Marcus looked at the notebook.
His father had warned that the person who authorized the transfer of Samuel's evidence might not be inside the sheriff's department.
Daniel Voss.
A county legal adviser who later represented Northstar Development.
Someone who could have helped move evidence through official channels while remaining outside the department's daily operations.
Someone who might still have access to the people and resources needed to protect the old arrangement.
Marcus remembered the final words of his father's recording.
I have seen the signature, but I need to verify the identity before I make an accusation.
His father had been cautious.
He had understood that suspicion was not proof.
Marcus wanted to follow that example.
But now the people who had threatened Thomas were making it clear that they would not wait for the investigation to reach its conclusions.