Chapter 8 - The Hearing
The next morning, federal investigator Priya Shah found us before we reached the North Quay plant. Two unmarked vehicles blocked the road, and Shah stood beside the lead car with a file tucked beneath one arm.
“James Mercer,” she said. “Margaret Henderson. You are not under arrest.”
“That sounds temporary,” I said.
“It depends on whether you continue acting like fugitives.”
Margaret stepped forward. “Victor Sloane killed my husband.”
“That is one of several theories.”
“Alma Reyes saw him at the crash.”
Shah glanced toward Alma. “We have been looking for Ms. Reyes.”
“Then you should have protected her.”
The investigator did not flinch. “We tried. Someone inside the state police warned Victor each time we got close.”
That explained the clean crime scene and the missing files. It did not explain why Shah had found us.
“Your apartment was searched again last night,” she said. “The intruder left behind a planted drive containing payments from your consulting company.”
“More evidence against me.”
“Evidence designed to be found.”
She opened the file. “There is a public hearing this afternoon on contamination along the Graywater watershed. The company’s board will testify. If you have anything real, give it to me before someone else gets hurt.”
Margaret looked at me. “We go.”
The hearing filled the county courthouse. Residents crowded the benches, carrying photographs of dead fish, closed wells, and children with rashes. Owen Price sat at the witness table beside Celia Voss, the board chair whose silver hair and calm expression had become familiar on every news channel.
Celia looked at Margaret with practiced sympathy.
“I am deeply sorry for your loss,” she said when questioned.
“You were sorry before David died,” Margaret replied. “That was when you asked him to sign the false soil reports.”
The room erupted.
Celia’s expression remained composed. Owen looked toward the exit.
I gave Shah the green ledger and David’s recording. The evidence was not enough to prove every payment, but it was enough to force the hearing into closed session.
Then the lights went out.
Someone screamed. A chair overturned. I heard a mechanical hiss beneath the witness table.
“Gas,” Lena shouted from the gallery.
People surged toward the doors. I pulled Margaret down and covered her with my body as the emergency lights flickered on. A masked man moved through the smoke toward Celia, not away from her.
Victor.
He reached the witness table, but Shah intercepted him. They struggled. Owen ran.
Margaret grabbed the microphone. “The company has been dumping toxic waste for years. David Henderson documented it. The board knows.”
Her voice carried through the courthouse as the emergency broadcast system came alive. Lena had routed the microphone feed to every local news station.
Celia turned on Margaret with sudden hatred.
“You ungrateful little fool,” she hissed.
The words were caught on the broadcast.
Victor escaped through a side door, but Shah recovered his weapon and a key card bearing Celia’s initials.
Outside, reporters swarmed us.
Margaret refused to answer questions until she saw me being loaded into an ambulance for the gas exposure. I had inhaled enough to make my lungs burn, but not enough to keep me from noticing that she held my hand.
“You should let go,” I said.
“I will when you stop pretending you’re fine.”
May you like
For the first time since she came to my door, her fear was not about David.
It was about losing me.
