Chapter 13 - The Motorcycle Samuel Left BehindJulia Mercer lived in a small brick house outside Cincinnati.
Federal agents accompanied Caleb.
She opened the door and looked unsurprised.
“You’re late.”
Caleb frowned.
“You expected us?”
“My brother said somebody would eventually figure it out.”
She invited them inside.
On the dining table sat an old motorcycle key.
“You bought Samuel’s Honda.”
“Yes.”
“Why anonymously?”
“Because he told me to.”
“When?”
“Two weeks before he died.”
Caleb felt his pulse rise.
“He knew.”
“He knew he was in danger.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“Police.”
Caleb felt shame even though he hadn’t been involved.
“He didn’t trust us.”
“He trusted someone named Morgan.”
Caleb froze.
“What?”
Julia looked carefully at him.
“You’re Caleb Morgan?”
“Yes.”
“Then he trusted you.”
Caleb stared.
“I barely knew him.”
“He said you were the only detective who asked him why a thief would leave cash untouched.”
Caleb remembered.
During their first meeting, Mercer had described suspicious financial records.
Caleb had taken him seriously.
Not enough to save him.
Julia disappeared into the garage.
Returned with a metal container.
Inside was a sealed plastic bag.
Ledger.
Original.
And a small digital recorder.
Caleb stared.
“This whole time?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you contact police?”
Julia’s face hardened.
“My brother contacted police.”
Caleb accepted that.
“You were waiting.”
“For Deputy Chief Pike to testify.”
Caleb frowned.
“How did you know about Pike?”
“Samuel told me Pike was compromised but might eventually turn.”
She knew more than investigators.
“Why Pike’s testimony?”
“Samuel said once Pike turned publicly, the network would start eating itself.”
Caleb almost smiled.
Mercer had predicted exactly what happened.
Julia handed him a letter.
Detective Morgan,
If Julia gives you this, then either Pike finally developed a conscience or everyone else is already dead.
Caleb read silently.
Do not assume the person who looks most corrupt is the person in charge. Corruption works because everyone sees only the layer directly above them.
Rawlings.
The street thief sees a dirty cop. The dirty cop sees a businessman. The businessman sees a prosecutor. The prosecutor believes he sees nobody above himself.
Caleb stopped.
Nobody above himself.
Was Mercer implying someone above Rawlings?
Lena read over his shoulder.
Caleb continued.
Rawlings is arrogant. Arrogant men rarely build systems from nothing. They inherit them and convince themselves they invented them.
Caleb’s stomach tightened.
There was another layer.
Julia watched him.
“Samuel said you’d make that face.”
Caleb looked up.
“What face?”
“The one where you realize the case isn’t finished.”
He almost laughed.
“Did he tell you who was above Rawlings?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t know.”
Caleb continued reading.
Follow the pension money.
That was all.
Caleb looked at Lena.
Police pension.
Holloway had mentioned pension people.
They returned to Columbus with the ledger.
Federal financial analysts began tracing payments.
Most flowed through shell companies.
Construction.
Transportation.
Private security.
Then one series stood out.
Large transfers from Lakefront Freight into a consulting firm.
The consulting firm invested heavily in funds used by a police pension advisory board.
Chairman of that advisory board:
Retired Judge Malcolm Reeves.
Seventy-two.
Respected.
Former prosecutor.
Mentor to James Rawlings.
Caleb stared at the photograph.
Reeves had hired Rawlings straight out of law school.
He had recommended Pike for command school.
He had represented Holloway’s father decades earlier.
Everyone connected to the network had one person in common.
Malcolm Reeves.
Lena said, “He’s retired.”
Caleb looked at her.
“From public office.”
Not necessarily from power.
Then Caleb’s phone rang.
His father.
Ben had asked something.
“Is Emily okay?”
“Yes.”
“She wants to talk to you.”
Emily came on.
“Caleb.”
“What?”
“The guy who kidnapped me.”
“Yes?”
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
“He kept getting calls.”
“From Rawlings?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he call the person?”
Emily hesitated.
“Judge.”
Caleb closed his eyes.
There it was.
May you like
Rawlings might have called himself Preacher.
But even Preacher answered to someone.
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