Two nights later, he followed the county sergeant to an abandoned feed warehouse.
There, he saw deputies unloading sealed bags from a patrol SUV.
They transferred the bags into a private truck.
Bull recorded everything.
Then the sheriff arrived.
Claire stopped cleaning his wound.
“The sheriff?”
Bull nodded.
The recording captured discussions about money, evidence, drugs, and a woman who had disappeared after threatening to expose them.
Then someone noticed Bull.
A deputy saw the reflection of his motorcycle in a warehouse window.
Bull ran.
A patrol car forced him off the road.
Someone fired.
And now he was here.
Claire looked at the memory card.
“Why didn’t you send the video?”
“I tried.”
“Then why didn’t it upload?”
“Because somebody had already thought of that.”
Bull explained that mobile data near the warehouse had been blocked.
The video existed in only one place.
The tiny card Claire held in her hand.
“If they get it,” Bull said, “every person who trusted me is finished.”
Claire looked toward the front door.
Then toward the sleeping trucker.
And finally back at Bull.
“Then they don’t get it.”
The Road Out
Claire woke the elderly trucker.
His name was Walter Briggs, and he had been eating at the diner every Thursday night for six years.
He looked at Bull.
Then at the blood.
Then at Claire.
“You’re asking me to help a Hell’s Angel?”
“I’m asking you to help a wounded man.”
Walter studied her for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
“I know every farm road between here and Springfield.”
Bull looked at Claire.
“What about the card?”
Claire stared at the tiny memory chip.
Then she opened a packet of sugar.
She placed the card inside.
Sealed it with kitchen tape.
And slipped it beneath the removable heel of her work shoe.
Bull stared.
“They’ll search your pockets.”
Claire smiled.
“They can.”
Walter backed his eighteen-wheeler toward the rear loading door.
Bull climbed into the trailer and disappeared behind stacks of empty produce crates.
Ten minutes later, the truck rolled into the darkness.
Claire stood alone in the rain.
She watched the taillights disappear.
She knew the men with badges would return.
And she knew they would not be happy.
She was right.
At 7:15 the next morning, two county detectives arrived with a warrant.
This time, they searched everything.
The kitchen.
The freezer.
The office.
The storage room.
The garbage.
The lockers.
The County Sergeant arrived halfway through the search.
He stood across from Claire.
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not.”
He placed a photograph on the counter.
It showed a blurry figure walking across the diner parking lot.
“You saw him.”
Claire looked at the photograph.
“I saw someone in the rain.”
The sergeant leaned forward.
“You’re going to regret helping him.”
Claire slowly pushed the photograph back.
“Then you should probably prove that I did.”
He hated that answer.
She could see it in his eyes.
Before leaving, he placed a violation notice on the counter.
The county health department had received anonymous complaints.
Pests.
Contaminated food.
Illegal storage.
An inspection was scheduled for the following morning.