Chapter 2 - The Basement Nobody Was Supposed to See
The scream lasted less than three seconds.
But it changed everything.
Deputy Cole looked toward the hallway.
Martha gripped the counter.
Sheriff Voss didn't even turn his head.
"Old plumbing," he said.
I studied him.
"Your plumbing screams?"
His jaw flexed.
"There's a holding area downstairs."
"Then someone may need medical attention."
"Nobody needs anything."
Another sound followed.
Three sharp metallic knocks.
Then silence.
I looked at Cole.
"Deputy, how many detainees are being held here?"
He opened his mouth.
Voss answered for him.
"None of your business."
I faced the sheriff.
"You're holding me on an accusation of armed theft."
"That's right."
"Then identify the alleged victim."
He said nothing.
"Give me the date, location, and incident number."
His eyes narrowed.
"You're not in your courtroom."
"No. I'm in a sheriff's office where a person is screaming below us."
Martha pressed her lips together.
Voss pointed at Cole.
"Put her in Interview Two."
"Sir, shouldn't we remove the cuffs?"
"I said Interview Two."
I could see the deputy struggling with a decision.
Then he approached me.
"Ma'am, please come with me."
I stood.
The handcuffs had already left angry red marks around my wrists.
But my attention remained on Martha.
She was staring at a small brass key hanging from Voss's belt.
When he caught her looking, she immediately turned away.
Interview Two smelled of disinfectant and old cigarettes.
There was a metal table, three chairs, and a camera mounted above the door.
Cole closed the door behind us.
He remained standing.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Why?"
"Because this shouldn't have happened."
I studied his face.
"Has it happened before?"
He looked away.
"Ethan."
His head jerked toward me.
"How do you know my first name?"
"It's printed on your badge."
He swallowed.
"Right."
I leaned back.
"Listen carefully. You do not need to apologize for another man's decisions. But you are responsible for your own."
He glanced toward the camera.
"That camera doesn't record sound."
"How do you know?"
"Because they disabled the audio system last spring."
"Who did?"
He didn't answer.
I waited.
Outside, someone began shouting.
Voss's voice.
Then Martha's.
A drawer slammed.
Cole lowered his head.
"My father worked here."
"What was his name?"
"Thomas Cole."
I recognized it immediately.
Thomas Cole.
One of the names buried in the anonymous complaints I'd received over the previous four months.
Former deputy.
Disappeared after reporting irregularities involving seized property and jail records.
Official explanation: voluntary resignation.
Unofficial allegation: retaliation.
"Where is your father now?"
Cole's eyes filled.
"I don't know."
The room suddenly seemed colder.
"When did you last see him?"
"Fourteen months ago."
"And you came to work here afterward?"
"I thought if I wore the same uniform, somebody might finally tell me what happened."
Before I could answer, the door opened.
Voss entered alone.
He shut it behind him.
His smile was different now.
Careful.
Practiced.
"Judge Whitlock."
I said nothing.
"Now that we've cleared up this confusion, I'd like to apologize."
"Have you?"
He frowned.
"Have I what?"
"Cleared it up."
He pulled out a chair.
"Look, people make mistakes."
"You said you don't."
His smile disappeared.
"You're going to make this difficult."
"That depends on what you do next."
Voss leaned toward me.
"I know how this looks."
"How does it look?"
"Like an unfortunate misunderstanding."
I glanced at my wrists.
"An unfortunate misunderstanding involving an invented robbery, an allegation of resistance, and an unexplained detainee downstairs?"
His face tightened.
"You're a long way from your federal courthouse."
"I am."
"Things work differently here."
"That is becoming increasingly clear."
He stood.
"What do you want?"
"The truth."
"About what?"
"Start with the person in your basement."
His eyes hardened.
"There's nobody down there."
I stared at him.
He returned my stare for a full five seconds.
Then he walked to the door.
"Deputy, outside."
Cole hesitated.
Voss opened the door.
"Now."
The young man stepped into the hallway.
The sheriff closed the door again.
Then he reached up and covered the camera with a folded paper towel.
I felt the first genuine flicker of danger.
Not because I doubted my own ability to remain calm.
But because Voss had stopped pretending.
He moved closer.
"You came here looking for trouble."
I kept my hands on the table.
"I came for lunch."
He smiled without humor.
"Don't insult me."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
He placed both palms on the table.
"Some people come into my county thinking they can fix it."
"Can they?"
"They usually leave disappointed."
He leaned closer.
"Some don't leave at all."
I let the words settle.
Then I said, "Is that what happened to Thomas Cole?"
Voss went completely still.
For the first time, I saw real surprise.
Then something worse.
Recognition.
"Who told you that name?"
I didn't answer.
His hand closed around my wrist.
Hard.
"Who?"
I looked at his fingers.
"Take your hand off me."
He tightened his grip.
And then, from the other side of the door, Ethan Cole shouted:
"SHERIFF! THE STATE POLICE ARE HERE!"
Voss released me instantly.
He turned toward the door.
His face was suddenly slick with sweat.
"Who called them?"
Nobody answered.
Then a woman's voice rang down the hallway.
"Dalton Voss! Open this door!"
I recognized the voice.
Special Agent Naomi Price.
Georgia Bureau of Investigation.
And when Voss opened the door, I saw she wasn't alone.
Behind her stood two investigators.
One carried an evidence case.
The other held a sealed warrant.
Naomi looked directly at me.
Then at my handcuffs.
Her expression went cold.
"Judge Whitlock."
I nodded.
"Agent Price."
She turned toward Voss.
"Take your hands off the judge."
Voss raised both palms.
"This is a misunderstanding."
Naomi didn't blink.
"Then explain why the man we came here to find is missing from your detention records."
My heartbeat quickened.
"What man?"
Naomi looked at me.
"His name is Samuel Reed."
I knew that name too.
May you like
He was the county accountant who had sent me the first anonymous corruption complaint.
And according to the federal records I'd reviewed before entering Briar County, Samuel Reed had been dead for eleven days.
