"Well," Noah said, looking at the folded copy of the New York Times on the table between them. "I guess the Sutherland name truly is famous now." He took a drink. "You know, reputation means everything to my father. The things that man will do to avoid someone marring his reputation." He shook his head. "Well."
He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to.
"It will all blow over," McKenzie said. "They'll come to their senses."
"I don't think so," Callie muttered. She picked up her wine and took a sip. Set it back down. "You should have heard Rivera. I thought it would be thirty days with pay. But she's looking at longer. And when I come back, she's talking about reassigning me to desk duty." She looked at the glass. "Can you believe that? Desk duty. Like I'm a rookie who forgot to file a report."
"What a shit show," McKenzie said. He raised his whiskey and drained half of it. "Meanwhile, I'm still on, which is great, except now it's all on me and every reporter, bureaucrat, and armchair detective in the state is watching every move I make." He signaled the bartender for another. "Had a guy from Channel 5 yesterday ask me on camera whether I had sufficient experience to lead a multi-agency task force. Sufficient experience. I've been doing this longer than that kid's been alive."
"What did you say?" Callie asked.
"I said no comment and walked into the bathroom. Hid there for four minutes. Very dignified." He paused, casting a sideways glance at Noah. "And you know the best part? You know who they've got to replace you, Noah?”
He cast a sideways glance. “Terry?"
"Nope. Porter. And you know I fucking hate Porter."
Noah laughed into his glass. The sound surprised him. It felt foreign, like a word in a language he hadn't spoken in weeks. Callie chuckled too, swirling the wine.
"Porter couldn't investigate a parking ticket," McKenzie said. "Yesterday he spent forty-five minutes reorganizing the evidence board by color. Color, Noah. The man arranged crime scene photographs by the dominant hue in the background."
"That's efficient," Callie said.
"That's insanity."
The laughter faded. It always did. The humor was a raft and the water was dark underneath it and they all knew they couldn't float on it forever.
McKenzie leaned back in the booth and looked at Noah. "I just can't believe they fired you."
"Oh, I can."
"You didn't do anything wrong at that campground. You followed procedure. You had backup. Danny escalated."
"That's not the story they're telling."
"The story they're telling is bullshit."
"Doesn't matter. The story they're telling is the one that went national." Noah turned his glass slowly on the table. The ice shifted. "And whoever fed that story knew exactly what they were doing."
The booth went quiet. The bartender set McKenzie's fresh whiskey down without a word.
Noah looked at both of them. Callie. McKenzie. The only two people he still trusted inside this case. One suspended. One barely hanging on. The three of them were in a booth in a half-empty bar while somewhere out there a man with a rifle was still working through a list.
"There's something I need to tell you both," Noah said. "And it stays between us until I know what to do with it.”
McKenzie's glass stopped halfway to his mouth. Callie's eyes found Noah's and held them.
"Savannah is compromised."
The silence that followed was different. Sharper.
"What do you mean, compromised?" McKenzie said.
"Luther Ashford is funding Cora's cancer treatment. The private facility. The experimental protocols. All of it runs through a chain of shell companies that traces back to Ashford."
McKenzie set his glass down. "You're sure."
"I traced it. Halcyon Medical Group to NorthBridge Health Partners to Arclight Ventures. Arclight's only real money comes from Luther."
