Chapter 5 - Room EightThe Sunset Motor Court looked like a place time had forgotten.
Eight faded doors faced an empty swimming pool covered by a cracked tarp.
The owner, Rita Delgado, remembered the night immediately.
“Police came asking months later,” she said.
“Which police?” I asked.
“Local officer. Then some detective from Pennsylvania.”
“Martin Vale?”
She nodded.
“He showed me a picture.”
“What did you tell him?”
Rita glanced toward Nora.
“Same thing I'll tell you. Your people were frightened.”
“My people?”
“The older gentlemen. Walter and Arthur.”
Nora stepped closer.
“You saw my father?”
“Yes.”
“Was he hurt?”
“No.”
“Did he leave?”
“I don't know.”
Rita told us Walter arrived first.
Arthur arrived two hours later.
Celeste came shortly before midnight.
At approximately one in the morning, Rita heard shouting.
“She was angry,” Rita said. “The blonde woman.”
“What was she saying?”
“Something about documents.”
“Anything else?”
Rita frowned, searching her memory.
“She kept saying, ‘You were supposed to stay dead.’”
My chest tightened.
“And Dad?”
“He told her he would go public in the morning.”
“What happened next?”
“A black car arrived.”
“Who was inside?”
“Two men.”
“Did you see them?”
“One.”
She disappeared into the office and returned with an old registration card.
“Security camera didn't work, but this gentleman came inside asking where Room 8 was.”
The man had signed the visitor log.
Not intelligently.
Just initials.
R.H.
Judge Raymond Hollis.
“What happened after that?”
“Around two, I heard something crash.”
“Did you call police?”
“I knocked. Nobody answered. I was about to call when the blonde woman came out and said her husband had suffered a medical problem and they'd taken him to a hospital.”
“Did you see Walter leave?”
“No.”
“Arthur?”
“No.”
My stomach hardened.
“Did you clean the room?”
“The next morning.”
“Anything strange?”
Rita hesitated.
“Blood.”
Nora grabbed the counter.
“Whose?”
“Not much. On the bathroom sink.”
“Did police test it?”
“They took samples months later.”
“Results?”
“Never told me.”
I called Dana immediately.
She promised to subpoena whatever reports existed.
Then Rita remembered one last thing.
“There was a camera.”
“You said security didn't work.”
“Not mine.”
She pointed across the road.
A twenty-four-hour gas station stood there.
“The station had cameras facing the highway.”
The footage was old.
Probably erased.
But the manager explained backups were stored for insurance purposes after a robbery the same month.
We spent four hours reviewing files.
At 1:47 a.m., a black sedan entered the motel.
At 2:26, it left.
At 2:31, Celeste's SUV followed.
No ambulance.
No other vehicle.
Walter and Arthur never walked out.
My stomach dropped.
“They were in those vehicles,” Nora whispered.
We tracked the sedan's license plate.
Registered to a judicial-services fleet.
Judge Hollis.
Dana ordered us to stop investigating.
“You've given me enough for warrants.”
I ignored her.
Because there was another detail.
Celeste's SUV drove east.
Judge Hollis's sedan drove west.
Two missing men.
Two vehicles.
Maybe Walter and Arthur had been separated.
We followed Celeste's route.
Traffic-camera records from the state transportation archive caught her SUV sixty miles east at 4:02 a.m.
Destination likely Pennsylvania.
A toll record placed her near Mercer Supply's abandoned warehouse at 5:14.
I knew the warehouse.
Dad had closed it two years before my arrest.
We went that afternoon.
A padlock secured the gate.
Dana finally sent federal agents with us.
Inside, dust covered everything.
Nothing.
Then an agent found recent electrical service.
Someone had been using the building.
In the back office stood a cot.
Canned food.
Bottled water.
Medical supplies.
Someone had lived there.
Or been held there.
On the wall were dozens of pencil marks.
Days counted in groups of five.
Two hundred and seventeen marks.
Nora stared.
“Someone was here for seven months.”
I found writing beneath the cot.
Three letters carved into the concrete.
EVM
My initials.
My father had left them.
“He was here.”
The agents photographed everything.
In a nearby drain, they recovered an old prescription bottle.
Walter Mercer.
Then an agent called from outside.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Behind the warehouse was a shallow creek.
Near it stood an old utility shed.
Inside were rope fragments, blankets, and a wheelchair.
No body.
No blood.
But Dad had been here.
Held captive.
Why keep him alive?
Dana believed the answer was corporate authority.
Although Celeste had forged documents, certain company assets required biometric or notarized authorization from Walter.
“They needed signatures,” Marcus explained.
“They could forge those.”
“Some contracts required live video verification.”
“So they kept him alive to use him.”
“Possibly.”
That meant Dad might have remained valuable.
And valuable people weren't always killed.
That evening, federal agents executed a search warrant on Celeste's home.
My home.
She wasn't there.
Neither was Graham Pike.
They had vanished.
Judge Hollis reported himself hospitalized for “cardiac observation.”
Convenient.
Martin Vale voluntarily surrendered his badge and requested immunity.
Dana didn't give him any.
But she listened.
Vale admitted accepting money.
Not bribes, he claimed.
Blackmail payments.
Graham had evidence that Vale's younger brother had embezzled from a charity.
“They threatened to prosecute him,” Vale said.
“So you framed me?”
“No.”
“You ignored evidence.”
“Yes.”
“You testified the investigation was clean.”
“Yes.”
“You let me go to prison.”
His voice cracked.
“Yes.”
I wanted to hit him.
Instead I asked:
“Where is my father?”
Vale looked directly at me.
“The last time I saw Walter Mercer, he was alive.”
“When?”
“Four months ago.”
Every person in the room froze.
“Where?”
“The warehouse.”
I stepped closer.
“You knew?”
“I found him.”
“And left him there?”
“No. I tried to move him.”
“What happened?”
“Graham arrived.”
Vale rubbed his face.
“I told Graham Walter had died from pneumonia.”
“Why?”
“To get him out.”
“Did it work?”
“For a few days.”
“Where did you take him?”
Vale hesitated.
Dana said, “Detective, this is the moment when deciding how much prison time you want becomes very practical.”
Vale exhaled.
“St. Agnes.”
I frowned.
“The hospital?”
“Former hospital. Closed psychiatric annex outside Briar County.”
“Why there?”
“Someone I trusted had access.”
“Who?”
Vale looked at me.
“Arthur Bell.”
Nora stood so quickly her chair tipped over.
“My father is alive?”
“He was four months ago.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don't know.”
Vale's eyes shifted between us.
“Arthur and Walter were planning to testify together.”
“Against whom?”
“All of them.”
“Then why haven't they?”
Vale went pale.
“Because somebody found St. Agnes before the federal government did.”
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
Dana told me not to answer.
I did.
Celeste's voice came through.
“Hello, Evan.”
Everyone in the room went silent.
“Where's Dad?”
“You always were impatient.”
“If you hurt him—”
“Walter is alive.”
My knees nearly buckled.
“Let me speak to him.”
“No.”
“Then you're lying.”
A muffled sound came through.
Then a voice.
Weak.
Older.
But unmistakable.
“Evan?”
I couldn't speak.
Dad whispered:
“Son?”
Tears filled my eyes.
“Dad.”
Celeste returned to the line.
“If you want him to remain alive, bring me the files Walter left you.”
“Where?”
“I'll tell you tomorrow.”
“You're not getting anything until I see him.”
She laughed.
“You still think you're negotiating.”
The line disconnected.
I looked at Dana.
She was already issuing orders.
For three years, I had dreamed about hearing my father's voice again.
May you like
Now I finally had.
And somewhere out there, he was waiting for me to find him.
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