Chapter 3 - THE WARRANTWade entered my garage like he owned it.
Deputy Carson followed him, along with three men I recognized from the diner.
Wade held up the warrant.
“Cole Mercer, we have authorization to search this property.”
“For?”
“Illegal weapons.”
Rebecca gasped.
I didn’t.
“What illegal weapons?”
“That’s what we intend to find.”
The answer was almost too convenient.
I stepped away from the workbench.
“Go ahead.”
Wade looked disappointed.
“You’re not going to argue?”
“Would it change anything?”
“No.”
“Then why waste your time?”
He gave the deputies a signal.
They began searching.
I watched every movement.
The warrant itself had problems.
I could see them without touching it.
Wrong vehicle description.
Unusually broad property language.
No clearly stated confidential source.
But I wasn’t going to help Wade understand his mistakes.
Deputy Carson opened cabinets.
Another deputy searched storage bins.
The third headed toward my office.
Wade stood near me.
“I hear you were some kind of Navy hero.”
There it was.
“I served.”
“Funny. Nobody around here knew.”
“I wasn’t aware I was required to submit a résumé to the sheriff.”
He stepped closer.
“You made that phone call, and suddenly somebody starts asking questions about me.”
“That sounds stressful.”
“You think you’re clever.”
“No.”
“I know men like you.”
That almost made me laugh.
Men like Wade always said that.
They never did.
“You show up from someplace else,” he continued. “Buy property. Keep to yourself. Look down on local people.”
“I repair their cars for almost nothing.”
“You think that buys loyalty?”
“I wasn’t trying to buy anything.”
His voice dropped.
“You should have moved booths.”
“And you should have ordered another milkshake.”
His face hardened.
Behind him, Deputy Carson accidentally smiled.
Wade saw it.
“Something funny, Carson?”
“No, Sheriff.”
“Then work.”
Carson turned away.
Rebecca stood near the garage door hugging herself.
Wade glanced toward her.
“Rebecca, sorry you have to watch this.”
She didn’t answer.
He knew her better than he had admitted too.
That increasingly bothered me.
A deputy emerged from my office carrying a locked black case.
“Sheriff.”
Wade smiled.
“There we go.”
He looked at me.
“Key?”
“No.”
“No?”
“You have a warrant. Open it.”
The deputy brought bolt cutters.
Rebecca whispered, “Cole, what’s inside?”
“Paperwork.”
Wade cut the lock.
Inside were tax records, vehicle titles, old maintenance manuals, and several sealed envelopes.
No weapons.
His smile disappeared.
“Search upstairs.”
“There is no upstairs,” I said.
He ignored me.
Twenty-three minutes passed.
Nothing.
Then a deputy walked from the rear storage room carrying a pistol inside a plastic evidence bag.
My stomach tightened.
I had never seen it before.
Wade’s smile returned.
“Well.”
Rebecca stared at me.
“Cole?”
“That isn’t mine.”
Wade laughed.
“Of course.”
I looked at the deputy holding it.
His name was Travis Bell.
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
That told me everything.
“Where was it?”
“Red toolbox.”
“Which drawer?”
Bell hesitated.
“Bottom.”
“I don’t keep anything in the bottom drawer.”
Wade interrupted.
“You can explain at the station.”
“Serial number?”
“What?”
“Read it.”
“That’s evidence.”
“Then preserve it.”
Wade stepped closer.
“Turn around.”
Rebecca rushed forward.
“You’re arresting him?”
“We’ll determine that downtown.”
“For what?”
“Possession of an unregistered firearm with an altered serial number.”
There it was.
A felony serious enough to create headlines.
FORMER NAVY MAN ARRESTED WITH ILLEGAL WEAPON.
Discredit the outsider.
Seize devices.
Search his history.
Scare everyone watching.
It was a familiar play.
I turned around.
Wade cuffed me himself.
Far too tightly.
Rebecca began crying.
“Wade, please.”
His expression softened for her.
That bothered me more than the cuffs.
“I’ll take care of it,” he told her.
I looked at him.
“You seem awfully comfortable telling my wife that.”
His eyes met mine.
A fraction too long.
Something old existed between them.
I filed it away.
They placed me in the rear of Wade’s cruiser.
As we pulled from my property, I saw a dark SUV parked farther down the county road.
Black.
Government plates.
Tom had said a federal team was coming.
I leaned back.
Wade looked at me in the rearview mirror.
“Still smiling?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
“That military nonsense won’t protect you.”
“I’m not depending on it.”
“Then what are you depending on?”
“The truth.”
He laughed.
“This is Pine Ridge. Truth is whatever survives.”
That was probably the most honest sentence he had ever spoken to me.
At the sheriff’s department, they put me in an interview room.
No phone.
No belt.
No watch.
The camera in the corner was supposedly running.
I assumed it wasn’t.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Nobody questioned me.
That was intentional.
Isolation creates anxiety.
Anxiety creates mistakes.
Eventually Deputy Carson entered carrying water.
He put it down.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you.”
“Then don’t.”
He remained standing.
“That gun wasn’t yours.”
I looked at him.
“Careful.”
He swallowed.
“I saw Bell go into that room before the official search started.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Tell somebody who can help you.”
His eyes flicked toward the camera.
“I have a kid.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
He shook his head.
“You leave town, Sheriff Harlan wins. You stay, he destroys you.”
“What did he do to the last person who fought him?”
Carson went pale.
That answered the question.
Before he could speak, the door opened.
Wade entered.
“Get out, Carson.”
Carson left.
Wade sat across from me.
“I talked to Rebecca.”
My jaw tightened.
“Why?”
“She’s upset.”
“My wife’s emotional state isn’t your concern.”
“We’re old friends.”
“How old?”
His smile returned.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“Jealousy.”
“No. Curiosity.”
He leaned back.
“Rebecca and I dated.”
I said nothing.
“Senior year. Little while after.”
Still nothing.
“She never told you?”
“No.”
He enjoyed that.
“Guess marriages have secrets.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t realize what mine were.
Wade placed a document on the table.
“Sign this.”
It was a consent form authorizing access to electronic devices seized at my home.
“No.”
“You got something to hide?”
“Everybody has something private.”
“You military boys always do.”
I stared at him.
“You searched my service history.”
His expression changed.
“Public records.”
“Not everything you discovered is public.”
“Maybe I know people.”
“Maybe.”
He stood.
“You’re going to learn something, Cole. Around here, I decide when problems disappear.”
A knock came from outside.
Wade ignored it.
Another knock.
Then the door opened.
A woman in a dark suit entered.
Mid-forties.
Federal credentials in hand.
“Sheriff Harlan?”
Wade spun.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Special Agent Naomi Grant, Department of Justice Office of the Inspector General joint task force.”
Wade’s face changed.
Behind her stood two more agents.
And a man wearing a Navy service uniform.
Commander Thomas Ellis.
Tom looked older than when I had last seen him.
More gray.
Same cold eyes.
He looked at the cuffs.
Then Wade.
“Interesting.”
Wade straightened.
“This man is under lawful detention.”
Tom stepped inside.
“Then you won’t mind if counsel reviews the basis.”
“He has a lawyer?”
Tom gave a thin smile.
“He does now.”
Wade looked from Tom to me.
“You planned this.”
“No,” I said.
“I planned lunch.”
Agent Grant placed a document on the table.
“We’re preserving all evidence connected to Mr. Mercer’s search and arrest, including body-camera recordings, vehicle recordings, dispatch records, warrant applications, evidence logs, and security footage.”
Wade scoffed.
“This is a county matter.”
“Not anymore.”
“Why?”
Grant looked directly at him.
“Because a firearm matching the description of the weapon supposedly recovered from Mr. Mercer’s garage was entered into your department evidence inventory eight months ago.”
Silence.
Even I hadn’t expected that.
Wade’s face drained.
Grant continued.
“And according to the digital log, Sheriff…”
She tapped the document.
“You personally checked it out yesterday morning.”
Tom slowly turned toward me.
I leaned back in my chair.
Wade stared at the paper.
“That’s impossible.”
Agent Grant smiled without warmth.
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes.”
She closed the folder.
May you like
“Then somebody has committed a serious crime.”
And for the first time since the diner, I watched Sheriff Wade Harlan realize that this wasn’t about a milkshake anymore.
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