“There is something else.”
Shannon’s face hardened.
“There always is.”
Mercer nodded.
“I remembered something when that recording played.”
Pike turned slightly at the far end of the awning.
Shannon said, “What?”
Mercer looked out at the rain.
“After you dragged me behind the rocks.”
His breathing changed.
“You were trying to stop the bleeding. Pike was beside us. I remember hearing the radio.”
Shannon’s stomach tightened.
“What did you hear?”
“Hale.”
She said nothing.
“Not clearly. Just fragments.”
“Tell me the fragments.”
Mercer closed his eyes.
“He asked whether Alvarez still had the ledger.”
Shannon waited.
“And?”
“Somebody answered yes.”
Mercer opened his eyes.
“Then Hale said, ‘Make sure there is nothing left to recover.’”
Shannon stared at him.
“That was not on the recorder.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
His honesty stopped her.
“I am not sure of anything anymore.”
Shannon looked toward Pike.
He returned.
“You heard that?”
Mercer nodded.
Pike’s expression darkened.
“I remember something close to that.”
Shannon’s pulse quickened.
Pike touched his scarred throat.
“Before I was hit.”
He looked at Shannon.
“Alvarez told me the ledger had names.”
“What names?”
“He never said.”
Mercer whispered, “Hale said the network was bigger than him.”
Pike nodded slowly.
All three looked toward the empty parking space where the investigators’ vehicle had been.
A new, cold fear began forming inside Shannon.
“Then Hale is not the end of this.”
“No,” Pike said.
A gust of rain blew beneath the awning.
Shannon closed her eyes.
For one brief moment she desperately wanted it all to be finished.
Finished with investigations.
Finished with fractured memories.
Finished with ghosts.
She wanted to live in an apartment where nobody called her Captain.
She wanted to remove her prosthetic at night and not dream that she had forgotten something important.
She wanted Hollis alive.
Rainer alive.
Alvarez alive.
She wanted things truth could never return.
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
Shannon looked at Pike.
Then Mercer.
She answered.
“Davis.”
Silence.
Then breathing.
Shannon straightened.
“Who is this?”
A man whispered:
“Captain?”
Her blood went cold.
She knew the voice.
Older.
Weaker.
Yet unmistakable.
The crutch shifted beneath her palm.
Pike saw her face.
“What?”
Shannon konnte nicht antworten.
Die Stimme ertönte erneut.
„Captain Davis?“
Sie drückte das Telefon fester an ihr Ohr.
“NEIN.”
Mercer trat auf sie zu.
“Wer ist es?”
Shannons Knie versagten beinahe.
Denn sie hatte diesen Mann zwölf Monate zuvor um seine Befreiung rufen hören.
Sie hatte gesehen, wie Staub seine Position verschluckte.
Sie hatte an seiner Gedenkfeier teilgenommen.
Sie hatte mit seiner Mutter gesprochen.
Sie hatte zugesehen, wie seiner Tochter eine gefaltete Flagge in die Hände gelegt wurde.
Die Stimme am Telefon flüsterte ihren Namen.
„Shannon.“
Ihr Mund öffnete sich.
Es kam nichts.
Und schließlich:
„Alvarez?“
Hecht wurde blass.
Mercer hörte auf zu atmen.
Der Mann am Telefon fing an zu weinen.
“Ja.”
Polizeichef Alvarez lebte.
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