Chapter 3 - The Dead Man in Cell Four
"Samuel Reed is dead," I said.
Naomi Price looked at me.
"That's what his death certificate says."
Voss gave a sharp laugh.
"Then I don't know what you're doing here."
Naomi turned.
"We received information that Mr. Reed was transported into this facility forty-eight hours ago."
"From who?"
"That's not your concern."
Voss crossed his arms.
"You can't just walk into my jail and start making accusations."
Naomi held up the warrant.
"We can execute this search warrant."
The sheriff's eyes moved across the document.
Then he smiled.
"Basement storage?"
"Among other specified areas."
"You've got bad information."
"Then the search should be simple."
I remained seated.
Despite the arrest, I understood the boundaries of my position.
My judicial office didn't give me command over state investigators.
Nor did it turn me into a detective.
I was a potential witness now.
Possibly a victim.
And given what I'd learned, I would need to disclose my involvement and stay away from any related proceedings that might create a conflict.
But I could still listen.
And what I heard next chilled me.
From somewhere below us came another metallic knock.
Naomi heard it too.
"What's downstairs?"
Voss shrugged.
"Mechanical room."
"Show us."
"No."
Naomi glanced at her agents.
"Proceed."
The sheriff stepped into their path.
"This is my facility."
One agent spoke quietly.
"Sir, move aside."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Martha appeared at the hallway entrance.
Her face was gray.
"There's a staircase behind Records."
Voss spun around.
"Shut your mouth."
Martha flinched.
But she kept talking.
"There's another door. The one under the old courthouse."
I watched Voss's expression transform.
His confidence cracked.
Not completely.
But enough.
Naomi ordered one investigator toward the records room while the other secured the hallway.
Voss took a step after them.
"You're making a mistake."
Naomi held out an arm.
"Stay here."
His gaze shifted toward me.
And the hatred I saw in his eyes was no longer disguised.
"You did this."
I shook my head.
"No."
He moved closer.
"You think your title protects you?"
"No, Sheriff."
I looked toward the staircase.
"I think the truth terrifies you."
The basement door was secured by an electronic lock.
Martha supplied an access code.
It didn't work.
She tried again.
A red light flashed.
"He's changed it."
Voss said nothing.
Naomi's agent requested assistance from the department's technical unit.
Before anyone could begin working on the lock, Deputy Cole approached.
His hands were shaking.
"There's another way."
Voss's voice cracked.
"Ethan, don't."
Cole looked at him.
For a moment, I thought the young deputy might retreat.
Then he removed his own keys.
"My father showed me."
He led the investigators to a maintenance door behind the booking desk.
The passage beyond smelled of standing water.
We heard footsteps descend.
Then the harsh sound of a metal door opening.
A man's voice called out.
"State police! Anyone here?"
Silence.
Then a weak voice answered.
"Please."
Naomi's eyes snapped toward the stairwell.
"Go."
The investigators moved quickly.
I remained upstairs with Cole and Martha.
Voss stood near the front entrance, flanked by a newly arrived trooper.
For the first time since entering the diner, he looked unsure of what would happen next.
Minutes passed.
Then an investigator's voice crackled over the radio.
"One adult male located. Alive. Severe dehydration. Request EMS immediately."
Martha began crying.
Cole shut his eyes.
Voss whispered something under his breath.
Naomi spoke into her radio.
"Identity?"
A pause.
Then:
"Subject states his name is Samuel Reed."
I rose slowly.
The room seemed to tilt.
A dead man was alive beneath a sheriff's office.
Which meant either the county had made an extraordinary mistake—
Or someone had manufactured a death.
Naomi looked at me.
"I need you to remain available for a formal statement."
"Of course."
A paramedic rushed past us toward the staircase.
Then another.
The investigators brought Samuel Reed upstairs on a stretcher twenty minutes later.
He was thin, badly bruised, and barely conscious.
A dirty white bandage covered his forehead.
His wrists showed old restraint marks.
But his eyes were open.
He looked around.
Saw Voss.
And began struggling.
"No."
The paramedic caught his shoulder.
"Sir, you're safe."
Samuel shook his head frantically.
"He's going to kill me."
Voss looked away.
Samuel's eyes found mine.
He stared.
Then gripped the paramedic's sleeve.
"Judge."
I stepped closer, careful not to interfere with the medical team.
"Mr. Reed?"
His lips trembled.
"I sent the letters."
"I know."
"Not all of them."
I leaned closer.
"What do you mean?"
He tried to speak.
Coughed.
Then forced out four words.
"Look at the children."
I frowned.
"What children?"
His eyes widened with panic.
"The ones they took."
I felt my blood run cold.
"Who took them?"
Samuel grabbed my jacket.
His voice was barely audible.
"Ask the sheriff about Mercy House."
Then his eyes rolled backward.
The paramedic checked his pulse.
"Move! We need to get him to the hospital!"
They hurried him outside.
I stood frozen.
Mercy House.
I had seen that name before.
Buried in county financial records.
A privately operated youth residential facility that had received millions in public money despite repeatedly failing inspections.
The same facility that officially closed three years earlier.
I turned toward Voss.
He was staring at the ambulance.
Not with fear for Samuel Reed.
With fury.
Naomi followed my gaze.
"What is Mercy House?"
Before I could answer, Martha spoke from behind the counter.
"It's where they send the children nobody comes looking for."
And from the far end of the hallway, a printer suddenly began spitting out sheets of paper.
One page.
Then another.
Then twenty more.
Martha rushed toward it.
She picked up the first page.
Her face drained.
"What is it?" Naomi asked.
Martha turned the document around.
Across the top was an automated detention-transfer report.
Twenty-three names.
Twenty-three minors.
May you like
And beneath the final name, a transfer authorization dated that very morning.
Signed electronically by Sheriff Dalton Voss.
