Chapter 6 - The Man Everyone TrustedDeputy Chief Warren Pike was untouchable.
At least that was how it felt.
Thirty years in law enforcement.
Decorated.
Popular with media.
Community boards.
Charity events.
The kind of commander politicians liked standing beside.
Caleb had trusted him.
That made the suspicion worse.
Lieutenant Ellison shut the task-force door.
“Nobody says Pike’s name outside this room.”
Rawlings looked uneasy.
“You think he’s involved?”
Caleb said, “I think Mercer named police corruption and Pike buried it.”
“That doesn’t prove—”
“No.”
Caleb stared at him.
“But my sister was kidnapped less than two hours after we discovered the missing evidence.”
Lena asked Rawlings, “Who knew Mercer made that claim?”
“Me. My supervisor. Pike.”
“Anyone else?”
“Possibly Pike’s internal review people.”
“Names?”
“I don’t know.”
Ellison cursed quietly.
Caleb’s phone buzzed.
New instructions.
MIDNIGHT. SCIOTO PARK SOUTH LOT. COME ALONE. BRING MERCER ARCHIVE.
Attached photograph.
Emily sitting in a chair.
Hands restrained.
Alive.
Caleb enlarged the image.
Concrete wall.
Yellow safety stripe.
Metal shelving.
Lena looked.
“Warehouse.”
“Yes.”
“Could be anywhere.”
Caleb studied the floor.
A small oil stain.
Tire marks.
Something behind Emily.
Red lettering.
Partial.
...KLIN
Franklin.
Franklin Cycle Storage.
Caleb looked at Lena.
“She’s there.”
“How sure?”
“Not sure.”
“Enough?”
“Yes.”
Ellison said, “We get a warrant.”
Caleb shook his head.
“No time.”
“We don’t raid based on half a word.”
“We have Brooke’s statement.”
“Not enough for immediate forced entry unless we can tie Emily directly.”
Caleb looked toward Rawlings.
“Can you make it enough?”
Rawlings hesitated.
Then nodded.
“I can call a judge.”
Ellison stared.
“Quietly.”
“Yes.”
While Rawlings worked, Caleb returned to Brooke.
She saw his face.
“What happened?”
“My sister was taken.”
Brooke’s expression changed.
“By them?”
“Probably.”
“I told you.”
“You told me Preacher would kill you.”
“He will.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think harder.”
“I never met him!”
“Tyler did.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Brooke shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Caleb put a photo of Deputy Chief Pike on the table.
“Recognize him?”
Brooke looked.
Nothing obvious.
Then her eyes changed.
Caleb caught it.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve seen him.”
“Maybe TV.”
“No.”
She looked away.
“Brooke.”
“At Franklin Cycle.”
Caleb’s pulse jumped.
“When?”
“Maybe four months ago.”
“Describe.”
“I was in Tyler’s car.”
“And?”
“This man came out of the warehouse.”
“Alone?”
“With another guy.”
“Who?”
“Older. Suit.”
“Pike was in uniform?”
“No.”
“What was he wearing?”
“Golf shirt.”
Caleb stared.
“Did Tyler react?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He told me to duck.”
“Why?”
“He said nobody was supposed to see customers.”
Caleb stood.
There it was.
Not proof enough for court.
Enough for him.
Brooke grabbed his sleeve before he could leave.
“Wait.”
Caleb looked at her hand.
She released him.
“Tyler has a locker.”
“Where?”
“Bus station downtown.”
“Number?”
“214.”
“What’s inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you know about it?”
“He keeps emergency cash.”
“Anything else?”
Brooke hesitated.
“A notebook.”
Caleb narrowed his eyes.
“What notebook?”
“He writes bike VINs. Payments. Dates.”
“Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
“Because I didn’t want him thinking I told you.”
“He’s in custody.”
“Preacher isn’t.”
Caleb leaned closer.
“If my sister dies because you held something back—”
Brooke’s eyes filled.
“I’m telling you now.”
Caleb stopped.
The fear was real.
“Why?”
She whispered:
“Because I know what it feels like when somebody uses your family against you.”
Caleb studied her.
“What did they do to yours?”
Brooke looked down.
“Ask Tyler.”
Caleb left.
At locker 214, investigators found cash.
Two burner phones.
A notebook.
And a Polaroid photograph.
Brooke.
Standing beside an older woman.
Her mother.
Written across the bottom:
STAY USEFUL.
Lena stared.
“They were blackmailing her too.”
Caleb turned pages in the notebook.
Motorcycles.
Dates.
Amounts.
Initials.
Then one entry stopped him.
S.M. — garage pickup — $25K — W.P.
Samuel Mercer.
Garage pickup.
The night he died.
May you like
W.P.
Warren Pike.
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