Caldwell leaned close enough for Marcus to smell stale coffee on his breath.
“Then you should understand something before you start giving speeches.”
His voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“Riverside buried the last man who tried to clean this place up.”
Marcus felt a chill travel down his spine.
He had read about the previous internal affairs investigator.
Detective Daniel Mercer.
Officially, Mercer had died in a single-car accident eleven months earlier.
Unofficially, he had been preparing a report on corruption inside the department.
Marcus stared at Caldwell.
“What do you know about Daniel Mercer?”
The sergeant's eyes changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Caldwell stepped backward.
“Put him in Holding Three,” he ordered.
Mullen frowned.
“Sergeant, are you sure?”
“You heard me.”
Marcus was led down another corridor, through a reinforced door, and into a narrow cell.
The handcuffs were removed only after he had been pushed inside.
The door slammed shut.
For a moment, Marcus stood motionless.
Then he rubbed his wrists and looked around.
A steel bench.
A toilet.
A narrow window high on the wall.
Graffiti scratched into the paint.
He sat down carefully, allowing himself to feel the pain in his shoulder.
His appointment as police chief had officially begun at nine that morning.
It was now nine fourteen.
And he was locked inside his own police station.
Outside, footsteps approached.
Marcus expected Caldwell.
Instead, Officer Bennett appeared at the cell door.
The young man checked behind him before speaking.
“Sir?”
Marcus looked up.
Bennett swallowed.
“I saw the photograph.”
“I know.”
“You really are the new chief.”
“Yes.”
Bennett's face reddened.
“I'm sorry.”
Marcus studied him.
“Are you sorry about what happened, Officer Bennett, or sorry because you found out who I am?”
The question struck harder than any accusation.
Bennett looked down.
“I don't know,” he admitted.
Marcus nodded.
“That answer is more honest than what I've heard from anyone else today.”
Bennett leaned closer.
“Sir, you need to get out of here.”
“Why?”
The young officer glanced toward the hallway again.
“Because Sergeant Caldwell just called someone.”
“Who?”
“I didn't hear the name.”
“What did he say?”
Bennett hesitated.
Then he whispered the words that changed everything.
“He said, ‘Mercer wasn't enough. Now they've sent another one.’”
Marcus rose from the bench.
“Officer Bennett, listen carefully.”
But before he could finish, footsteps thundered down the corridor.
Bennett straightened.
Caldwell appeared around the corner, followed by two officers Marcus had never seen before.
The sergeant looked at the young patrolman.
“What are you doing here?”
“Checking the prisoner, sir.”
Caldwell smiled without warmth.
“Good. Then you can help us transfer him.”
Marcus stepped toward the bars.
“Transfer me where?”
Caldwell removed a ring of keys from his belt.
“To a place,” he said, “where nobody's going to recognize your face.”
And for the first time since entering Riverside Police Department, Marcus realized that the danger had moved beyond humiliation.
Someone might be preparing to make him disappear.
The Transfer That Never Existed
Marcus had spent enough years investigating corrupt officers to recognize when a situation was shifting from unlawful detention into something far more dangerous.
Caldwell's announcement of a transfer was not accompanied by paperwork.
There was no booking record, no transport authorization, no destination listed on a computer screen.
More importantly, the two officers standing behind him wore plain black jackets without identification numbers.
One was tall, with a narrow face and a scar running from his right eyebrow to his temple.
The other was heavyset and carried a worn leather equipment bag.
Neither looked surprised to find the newly appointed police chief behind bars.
That told Marcus almost everything he needed to know.
“Where's the transfer order?” he asked.
Caldwell unlocked the cell.
“You'll see it when we get there.”
“That's not how detainee transportation works.”
The tall officer stepped forward.
“Sounds like this one's got an answer for everything.”
Marcus remained standing.
“I'm asking for the name of the receiving facility.”
Caldwell entered the cell.
“You're asking too many questions.”
He reached for Marcus's arm, but Marcus shifted backward.
“Before you touch me again, I want your full name, your badge number, and the identity of whoever authorized this transfer.”
The heavyset man chuckled.
“Still thinks he's running the place.”
Marcus looked directly at him.
“I am running the place.”
The man stopped smiling.
Caldwell's patience snapped.
“Cuff him.”
The two unidentified officers entered.
Marcus knew he could physically resist.
He was forty-eight, in excellent condition, and still trained regularly. But three officers in a confined space created unpredictable dangers, especially when at least one appeared willing to use unlawful force.
He chose not to fight.
Instead, he raised his hands.
“I am complying. Let the record reflect that.”
Caldwell laughed.
“What record?”
Marcus glanced toward the ceiling.
The holding-cell cameras were recording.
Unlike the interrogation-room system, they had no accessible wall switch.
He had noticed the tiny amber light above the doorway when he entered.
Caldwell noticed his glance.
His expression changed.
“Turn that thing off,” he ordered the heavyset officer.
The man looked up.
“System's controlled from the main desk.”
“Then call the desk.”
While they argued, Marcus focused on Bennett.
The young officer was standing just beyond the cell door, pale and rigid.
Marcus spoke calmly.
“Officer Bennett, departmental policy requires every prisoner transfer to be entered into the custody log before departure.”
Caldwell turned.
“Shut your mouth.”
Marcus continued.
“It also requires the transporting officers to identify themselves.”
The tall man seized his arm.
Marcus winced but did not stop speaking.
“If I leave this facility without that documentation, every officer present becomes part of an unauthorized custodial removal.”
Bennett glanced at the two unidentified men.
One of them looked away.
Marcus saw his opening.
“Officer Bennett, take out your notebook.”
Caldwell rounded on him.
“Don't you dare.”
Bennett's hand moved toward his pocket, then stopped.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Marcus understood that the young officer was making a decision that could determine the rest of his life.
Finally, Bennett removed a small black notebook.
He opened it.
“What time is it, sir?” he asked.
Caldwell took a step toward him.
“You are finished in this department.”
Bennett looked at his watch.
“Nine twenty-six.”
He wrote it down.
Then, in a voice that trembled but remained audible, he said, “Sergeant Caldwell, I am requesting the transfer order and the identities of the receiving personnel.”
The heavyset man muttered a curse.
Caldwell stared at Bennett as if he had suddenly become a stranger.
“You think this man is going to protect you?”
Bennett looked toward Marcus.
“I think he deserves to be processed legally, whoever he is.”
Marcus felt something shift.
It was a small act.
A question asked aloud.