Rebecca nodded.
“No.”
She placed a folder on his desk.
“This came from the State Police.”
Malcolm opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A parking lot.
A police cruiser.
Three officers.
One of them was Mercer.
Another was Lieutenant Carl Dunning.
The third was someone Malcolm didn't recognize.
“Who's the third?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“We don't know.”
Malcolm studied the photograph.
“When was this taken?”
“Four months ago.”
“Why is it relevant?”
“Because the photograph was recovered from a deleted phone.”
Malcolm looked up.
“Whose phone?”
Rebecca's voice dropped.
“Lieutenant Dunning's.”
Malcolm turned the page.
A handwritten note appeared.
If Hayes gets assigned, move before the first evidentiary hearing.
Malcolm stared at it.
“Who wrote this?”
“We don't know.”
“Can it be authenticated?”
“Not yet.”
Malcolm closed the folder.
“Then it's not evidence.”
“Not yet.”
Rebecca paused.
“But someone knew you were coming.”
Malcolm's expression hardened.
“That is what concerns me.”
That evening, Malcolm left the courthouse at 6:17.
He didn't use the judge's reserved parking area.
He rarely did.
He preferred to park several blocks away.
His car was an ordinary black sedan.
As he walked through the parking structure, he heard footsteps.
He stopped.
Nothing.
He continued.
The footsteps continued.
Malcolm turned.
A man stood near a concrete pillar.
Dark jacket.
Baseball cap.
Hands in pockets.
“Judge Hayes?”
Malcolm said nothing.
“You need to reconsider this case.”
Malcolm looked at him.
“Who are you?”
“Someone giving you advice.”
“I didn't ask.”
“You should.”
The man stepped forward.
“This case is bigger than you.”
Malcolm smiled faintly.
“Most cases are.”
“People can get hurt.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It's a warning.”
“Then take your warning to the police.”
The man laughed.
“You think the police are going to protect you?”
Malcolm studied him.
Then he noticed something.
A small scar beneath the man's right eye.
Malcolm had seen it before.
In the courthouse.
In the hallway.
Standing behind Mercer.
Malcolm remembered.
“Lieutenant Dunning.”
The man froze.
Then ran.
Malcolm did not chase him.
Instead, he pulled out his phone and called Rebecca.
“Someone just approached me.”
“What happened?”
“A warning.”
“Threat?”
“Yes.”
“Did you identify him?”
“Possibly.”
“Who?”
“Carl Dunning.”
Rebecca went silent.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Dunning has been under protective supervision.”
Malcolm looked toward the parking structure entrance.
“Apparently not.”
The next morning, Dunning was gone.
His official residence was empty.
His phone was disconnected.
His bank accounts had been drained.
And his vehicle was found abandoned two counties away.
The case had changed.
This was no longer about misconduct.
Someone was trying to destroy evidence.
Someone was frightened.
And someone was willing to do almost anything to keep Malcolm from reaching the truth.
Three days later, another officer walked into the courthouse.
Her name was Elena Brooks.
Thirty-one years old.
Seven years in law enforcement.
She had served in the Special Enforcement Unit for only fourteen months.