Chapter 7 - Miller CreekThey reconstructed it later.
Mom had asked to use the restroom.
A woman wearing medical scrubs approached her in the hall and said there had been a change in security arrangements.
Mom assumed she worked with state police.
She followed.
The woman led her through a side exit.
A black SUV waited outside.
It took less than forty seconds.
The woman was later identified as Teresa Hollis.
Raymond Hollis’s daughter.
And Mark Dawson’s former business partner.
That was when investigators realized the conspiracy had never belonged to one generation.
Captain Mercer refused to let me leave headquarters.
She was right.
Again.
I hated her for it.
Again.
“We have checkpoints.”
“He has my mother.”
“We know.”
“Then let me help.”
“How?”
“I know her.”
“That does not make you useful at a barricade.”
“It makes me useful if he calls.”
That stopped her.
Because he did.
At 8:41 p.m., my phone rang.
Mom’s number.
Mercer placed recording equipment immediately.
I answered.
“Mom?”
Raymond Hollis spoke.
His voice was older than I expected.
Smooth.
Educated.
Almost tired.
“General Mitchell.”
“Where is my mother?”
“She’s unharmed.”
“Let me hear her.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“It is if you want me to continue this conversation.”
Pause.
Then Mom’s voice.
“Rebecca.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you restrained?”
Hollis took the phone back.
“That’s enough.”
“What do you want?”
“Your father’s documents.”
“They’re already in evidence.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“That’s your problem.”
Captain Mercer gave me a warning look.
Keep him engaged.
Hollis chuckled.
“You sound like David.”
“Good.”
“He was very confident too.”
“So confident you needed a police lieutenant to help you deal with him?”
Silence.
There.
Anger.
“Michael Harris was useful,” Hollis said.
Not innocent.
Useful.
Captain Mercer wrote the word on a pad and underlined it.
“So he worked for you.”
“He worked for himself.”
“What happened to my father?”
“You already know.”
“No.”
“His truck went off a bridge.”
“How?”
Hollis did not answer.
“Did you ram him?”
Nothing.
“Did Michael?”
Nothing.
“You’re asking me to trade evidence that no longer exists outside official custody. Give me a reason to keep talking.”
Hollis laughed softly.
“Because your mother is sitting beside me.”
“Where?”
“You don’t negotiate very well for a general.”
“This isn’t a negotiation. You took an unarmed sixty-five-year-old woman because you ran out of better ideas.”
Captain Mercer mouthed: Easy.
But I heard Hollis breathing harder.
“You think rank makes you untouchable.”
“No.”
“You came back here acting superior.”
“I came for my mother’s birthday.”
“You reopened things that should have stayed buried.”
“You buried a woman behind my mother’s shed.”
That struck him.
“How do you know about that?”
Interesting.
Maybe Emily’s death had not been his decision.
Maybe Michael had acted alone.
“You don’t know everything Michael did, do you?”
Silence.
Then Hollis said, “Bring me David’s original notebook.”
“I told you—”
“Midnight.”
“Where?”
“You’ll receive instructions.”
“If my mother is hurt—”
The line went dead.
Investigators traced the call toward the quarry region again.
But not enough.
For the next hour, teams searched roads, barns, hunting cabins, and abandoned industrial buildings.
Then Michael Harris walked into a gas station twelve miles north of Bellweather.
He was bleeding from the shoulder.
Unarmed.
And asking to speak to me.
Captain Mercer went instead.
I watched their conversation remotely from headquarters.
Michael sat in an interview room with a bandage wrapped around his upper arm.
His uniform was gone.
He wore muddy jeans and a torn shirt.
Without the badge, he looked smaller.
Mercer sat opposite him.
“Where is Carol?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who shot you?”
“Hollis.”
“Why?”
“Because he thinks I kept copies.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
My heart accelerated.
“Copies of what?”
“Everything.”
“Where?”
Michael looked toward the camera.
“I’ll tell Rebecca.”
Mercer’s expression hardened.
“You’re not controlling this interview.”
“I need to speak to her.”
“You need an attorney.”
“I waived one.”
“You can change your mind.”
“I want Rebecca.”
Mercer came into the viewing room.
“No.”
“Captain.”
“No.”
“He knows something.”
“He’s manipulating.”
“Probably.”
“That isn’t a reason to reward him.”
“It’s a reason to use him.”
She stared at me.
Then she sighed.
Five minutes later, I sat across from the man who had handcuffed me the previous day.
For several seconds neither of us spoke.
Michael looked at my wrists.
The red marks remained.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No.”
“I was angry.”
“No excuse.”
“I know.”
“Where is my mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where would Hollis take her?”
“Maybe the old river plant.”
“Why?”
“He owns it through a shell company.”
“Tell Mercer.”
“I did.”
“Then why am I here?”
Michael looked at me.
“Because you need to know what happened to David.”
My pulse quickened.
“Talk.”
He swallowed.
“Your father discovered the contract scheme.”
“I know.”
“He came to me because he trusted me.”
“I know.”
“I took his evidence to Hollis.”
“You betrayed him.”
“Yes.”
The word came quietly.
“Why?”
“Money.”
No excuse this time.
At least he said it plainly.
“How much?”
“Twenty thousand at first.”
I almost laughed.
“You sold my father for twenty thousand dollars?”
“No.”
“Then what do you call it?”
Michael looked down.
“I thought Hollis only wanted to know what David had.”
“And later?”
“Later, I was too deep.”
“What happened the night he died?”
“Hollis wanted the originals.”
“Dad refused.”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit his truck?”
“No.”
“Did Hollis?”
“His driver did.”
“Name.”
“Peter Voss.”
I had never heard it.
“Alive?”
“Died in 2014.”
“Convenient.”
“It’s true.”
“What did you do?”
Michael’s eyes filled.
“I watched.”
I felt something inside me turn to stone.
“You watched my father die?”
“I followed them.”
“Why?”
“Hollis told me to make sure the scene looked like an accident.”
Silence.
There are moments when rage becomes so enormous it produces calm.
That was one.
“You altered the report.”
“Yes.”
“You hid the bumper damage.”
“Yes.”
“You intimidated my mother.”
His face crumpled.
“Yes.”
“And then you married her.”
“I loved her.”
I stood.
“No.”
“Rebecca—”
“No. Whatever you felt, don’t insult her by calling it that.”
I headed for the door.
“I have evidence!” he shouted.
I stopped.
“Where?”
“My department office.”
“It’s already being searched.”
“They won’t find it.”
“Where?”
“Inside the old evidence freezer.”
Captain Mercer entered.
“Specific location.”
Michael explained a false back panel installed years earlier.
“What’s inside?” she asked.
“Financial records. Recordings. Photos.”
“Anything about Emily Dawson?”
Michael went pale.
“Yes.”
“Did you kill her?”
He looked at the table.
Captain Mercer repeated the question.
“Did you kill Emily Dawson?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Michael whispered:
“Mark.”
“Her husband?”
“Yes.”
“And you buried her.”
Michael closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
The confession settled over the room like smoke.
Then Mercer’s radio crackled.
“Captain, river plant team reports movement.”
She grabbed it.
“Hostage visible?”
“Possible female, second floor.”
I stared at Michael.
“Is there another exit?”
His head snapped up.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Old drainage tunnel. East side. It runs under the loading dock.”
Mercer spoke into her radio immediately.
Michael stood.
“Hollis knows the tunnel.”
An officer pushed him back into his chair.
“He’ll use it if he sees police.”
Mercer relayed the information.
Thirty seconds later, gunfire erupted over the radio.
Then shouting.
Then static.
I gripped the edge of the table.
A voice came through.
“Suspect moving east! Hostage with him!”
Michael whispered, “The tunnel.”
Mercer ran.
And for the second time that night, I remained behind.
This time, I understood why.
My role was not to rescue Mom with a weapon.
It was to stop believing that being strong meant doing everything myself.
Ten agonizing minutes later, Mercer called.
“We have Carol.”
My legs nearly gave out.
“Alive?”
“Alive. Shaken. Minor injuries.”
“Hollis?”
Pause.
“He escaped into the woods.”
My relief lasted three seconds.
May you like
Then Mercer added:
“And we believe he has Tyler.”
