Chapter 8 - The Man Above Rusk
By sunrise, Adrian Kell was no longer answering reporters' questions.
His office issued a written statement.
He denied ever visiting Nathan Cole's home on the night of the murder.
He denied instructing police officers to alter evidence.
He denied knowing anything about county money laundering.
Then state investigators recovered traffic-camera footage from an archive nobody had bothered to check five years earlier.
At 9:14 p.m. on the night Nathan died, Kell's county-issued sedan was recorded three blocks from the Cole home.
At 9:48, it was recorded leaving.
Leah showed the still images to Elena.
Elena stared at them through the glass.
"Why didn't my lawyer find this?"
"Your original defense requested traffic records."
"And?"
"They were told there were none."
Elena closed her eyes.
"Of course."
Leah pressed a hand against the glass.
"This is different now."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it is."
Elena opened her eyes.
"Then tell me I am going home."
Leah couldn't.
Not yet.
"The stay expires tomorrow."
Elena gave a tired smile.
"Exactly."
Leah had one more lead.
Nathan's accounting files.
The blue phone contained photographs of handwritten numbers.
Dates.
Company names.
Initials.
One set appeared repeatedly:
A.K.
C.R.
And H.W.
Kell.
Calvin Rusk.
But nobody knew H.W.
Owen spent hours cross-referencing county contracts.
At 1:30 p.m., he found it.
Henry Wallace.
Former county judge.
Now chairman of a private infrastructure company that had received more than $200 million in government contracts.
Leah stared at his photograph.
Wallace was seventy-two.
Respected.
Wealthy.
He had presented Elena's victim-impact award to Nathan's parents after the conviction.
"Son of a bitch," Owen whispered.
They dug deeper.
Two of the shell companies Nathan identified shared a registered agent with Wallace's company.
A third had once listed Wallace's nephew as an officer.
"He's H.W.," Leah said.
Mina shook her head.
"Possible isn't proof."
Leah hated hearing the words.
But she knew Mina was right.
Then the prison called.
Mitchell's voice sounded different.
"Leah, someone tried to access Chloe."
Her stomach dropped.
"What?"
"A man showed up at the child services office claiming he had authorization from the attorney general."
"Who?"
"He used a fake name."
"Where is Chloe now?"
"Safe."
"Are you sure?"
"State troopers moved her."
Leah stood.
"Did they get a picture?"
"Security camera."
"Send it."
The image arrived seconds later.
Owen looked at it.
"That's not Rusk."
"No."
The man was older.
Gray hair.
Heavy face.
Leah zoomed in.
A small lapel pin appeared on his jacket.
A gold W.
She searched Henry Wallace's recent photographs.
Same height.
Same jaw.
Same gold pin.
But the security image was too blurry for a positive identification.
Leah's phone rang again.
This time it was an unknown number.
She answered.
"Leah Mercer."
A distorted voice said, "Stop digging."
Leah looked at Owen.
"Who is this?"
"You got your stay."
"I want my client free."
"Your client is alive because we're allowing it."
Leah's skin went cold.
"Who is we?"
The caller ignored her.
"Walk away."
"Or what?"
A pause.
Then the voice said:
"Ask Elena what happened to her first attorney."
The line went dead.
Leah stared at the phone.
Elena's first attorney, Raymond Price, had died four years earlier.
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Official cause:
suicide.
