Chapter 6 — The Counterattack
At 7:00 the next morning, Richard appeared on television.
He wore a dark suit and stood beside Eleanor on the courthouse steps.
His right hand was wrapped in a bandage.
I knew the injury was false because the Easter recording showed him using that hand without difficulty after Lily was hurt.
But television did not require truth.
It required an image.
“My wife is deeply unwell,” Richard told the cameras. “Our family has tried privately for years to get her the help she needs.”
Eleanor touched his shoulder like a grieving mother.
“We love Lily,” she said. “We only want her safe.”
Reporters shouted questions.
Richard lowered his eyes.
“Yesterday, she attacked me during a severe emotional episode. Her father then entered our home and threatened several guests.”
A photograph of me appeared on the screen.
It was an old military identification photo.
Someone had accessed sealed records.
The caption read:
RETIRED OPERATIVE LINKED TO EASTER ESTATE VIOLENCE
“They’re trying to make you look dangerous,” Lily said from her hospital bed.
“They’re not entirely wrong.”
She almost smiled.
It was the first time since I found her on the floor.
Then the broadcast shifted to Chief Mercer.
“We are investigating all allegations fairly,” he said. “No individual, regardless of wealth or background, is above the law.”
Thomas muted the television.
“I’ve always hated that sentence.”
“Because guilty officials love saying it?”
“Exactly.”
Agent Cole entered carrying a court order.
“They obtained a warrant for Arthur’s house.”
I stood.
“What are they searching for?”
“Weapons, recordings, financial documents, anything they can describe as evidence of conspiracy or intimidation.”
“They’re not searching,” Thomas said. “They’re planting.”
Cole nodded.
“We have state officers moving there now, but Mercer’s team left fifteen minutes ago.”
My home was twenty minutes away.
They had the lead.
Thomas looked at me.
“Anything inside that could be misrepresented?”
“Plenty.”
My old files were legally stored, but sealed documents could be removed from context. My gun safe contained registered firearms from my years in service. A prosecutor loyal to Richard could build a frightening story with photographs alone.
Then I remembered the basement.
Not the files.
The radio.
I crossed to the window and called my neighbor, Harold Gaines.
He answered after two rings.
“Arthur?”
“Is there police activity at my house?”
“Four cars. They just went inside.”
“Harold, listen carefully. Do you remember the shortwave set I repaired for you?”
“The old Zenith?”
“Turn it to frequency 7.462.”
“Why?”
“Just listen.”
Ten minutes later, Harold called back.
“I hear voices.”
Years ago, after threats related to one of my final cases, I had installed a passive security system throughout the house. It transmitted audio whenever doors were opened without my authorization.
I had never removed it.
Harold placed his phone beside the radio.
Mercer’s officers could be heard moving through my study.
A man said, “Put it in the bottom drawer.”
Another asked, “What is it?”
“Unregistered cash and a passport. Don’t worry about it.”
Thomas looked at Agent Cole.
“Are you recording this?”
“Every word.”
The first man continued.
“The chief wants the rifle moved upstairs. Make it look accessible.”
Lily stared at me.
“They’re planting evidence.”
“Yes.”
Fear entered her face.
“What happens now?”
I looked at Thomas.
May you like
He understood immediately.
“Now,” he said, “we let them finish.”
