Chapter 4: The Man in the Photograph
I looked at the photograph on the refrigerator.
Then at Colonel Samuel Mercer.
Nine years ago, he'd stood in my kitchen with my wife and four-year-old son, smiling like a man who had nothing to hide.
Now Claire's final letter was trembling between my fingers.
"The order came from the one man you trusted enough to leave alone with our son.""
Mercer noticed where I was looking.
"Damon?""
I folded the letter carefully.
"Tell me something, Sam.""
"Anything.""
"How many times did you babysit Evan?""
His eyebrows drew together.
"What?""
"After I came home from Black Lantern. Before we moved. How many times did Claire and I leave him with you?""
Mercer swallowed.
"Three, maybe four.""
"Five.""
He stared at me.
"Five times. Claire used to call you Uncle Sam. Evan thought you were the funniest man alive because you could balance a spoon on your nose.""
"Damon, where is this going?""
I turned the letter toward him.
The moment he saw Claire's handwriting, his face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
His shoulders lowered.
His lips parted.
And for the first time since he'd walked into my kitchen, Colonel Mercer looked genuinely afraid.
"Where did you get that second page?"" he whispered.
I went still.
"You knew there was a second page?""
He said nothing.
"Sam.""
He reached toward the letter.
I pulled it away.
"Don't.""
"Damon, listen to me.""
"You brought this envelope into my house. You told me Claire sent it to you. You watched me read it. And now you're asking where I got the second page?""
His eyes shifted toward the staircase.
I stepped between him and the hallway.
"Look at me.""
He did.
"Did you betray my team?""
"No.""
"Did you give the order that killed those six men?""
"No.""
"Did you know somebody was going to hurt Claire?""
Mercer's expression crumpled.
And there it was.
Not guilt over the mission.
Something worse.
He lowered himself into a kitchen chair.
"I knew she was being followed.""
For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the humming refrigerator.
"You knew?""
"She came to me because she was frightened. She'd found documents, and someone had been calling the house while you were at work.""
"Why didn't she tell me?""
"Because she knew you'd go looking for whoever was responsible.""
I laughed once.
"She was right.""
Mercer stared at the table.
"I told her I could arrange protection. I contacted someone I trusted.""
"Who?""
He closed his eyes.
"Richard Haron.""
My hands curled.
"Richard?""
"He was retired from operational command by then, but he still had connections. I believed he could help her.""
"And?""
"Someone intercepted my request.""
"Who, Sam?""
He rubbed his forehead.
"That's what I've spent nine years trying to establish.""
I took a step backward.
I wanted to believe him.
That was the terrible thing.
Some part of me still remembered the man who'd sat with me outside a military hospital for seven hours after my closest friend died.
The man who'd held Evan at Claire's funeral because I couldn't stop shaking long enough to carry my own child.
But Claire's letter lay between us.
"Read the last line," I said.
Mercer picked it up.
His lips moved silently.
Then he shook his head.
"No.""
"She was talking about you.""
"No, Damon. She wasn't.""
"There's a photograph right there. You were the only person from my old life we ever trusted with Evan.""
Mercer rose so quickly his chair scraped against the floor.
"There was somebody else.""
I stopped.
He pointed toward the photograph.
"Look at Claire's hand.""
I turned.
In the picture, Claire stood beside me while Evan grinned from my shoulders.
Mercer stood behind us.
Claire's left hand rested against the edge of the frame.
Mercer stepped closer.
"That photograph was taken at Evan's fourth birthday party.""
"I know.""
"Who took it?""
I opened my mouth.
And stopped.
A memory surfaced.
A backyard full of balloons.
Claire complaining about the cake frosting melting.
A tall man in a navy windbreaker volunteering to take the family photograph.
He'd made Evan laugh by pretending the camera was broken.
My stomach tightened.
"Thomas Voss.""
Mercer nodded slowly.
"Voss wasn't just Richard's contractor, Damon.""
He reached into the leather folder and removed a printed photograph.
Thomas Voss stood beside a military transport aircraft.
Two younger men flanked him.
One was Mercer.
The other was me.
Sixteen years younger.
"Voss was the communications liaison assigned to Black Lantern," Mercer said.
"And after the mission, he was assigned to monitor everyone who survived.""
"Monitor?""
"Officially, he was conducting follow-up welfare assessments. Unofficially, somebody wanted to make sure none of you started comparing what you'd heard over the radio.""
I stared at Voss's face.
I'd known him as Tom.
He'd been to our house.
He'd brought Evan birthday presents.
Claire had even invited him to Thanksgiving one year.
And nine years ago, he'd been driving the vehicle that struck her at an intersection.
"Where is he?"" I asked.
Mercer hesitated.
"Sam.""
"Missing.""
"Since when?""
"Eleven days ago.""
I looked toward the window.
Outside, a car passed slowly along our cul-de-sac.
Its headlights washed across the kitchen wall.
"Does Richard know?""
"He's the one who contacted me.""
That surprised me.
"Why?""
"Because Voss disappeared three days after sending Richard an encrypted message.""
"What message?""
Mercer took out his phone.
He opened a photograph of a printed email.
The subject line read:
*BLACK LANTERN — ORIGINAL TRANSCRIPT RECOVERED.*
Below it was a single sentence.
The man you protected wasn't the man who gave the order.
I stared at the screen.
"Richard protected somebody?""
Mercer nodded.
"Apparently.""
"Who?""
"That's why he wants to speak with you.""
I handed back the phone.
"No.""
"Damon—"
"I am not meeting Richard Haron.""
"He believes you have something Claire left behind.""
"Claire left behind a four-year-old boy who cried himself to sleep for six months.""
Mercer didn't answer.
I leaned across the table.
"Tell Richard if he wants something from my family, he can put it in writing.""
Before Mercer could reply, a floorboard creaked upstairs.
We both turned.
Evan stood halfway down the staircase in his pajamas.
His hair stuck up on one side.
He held a small stuffed dog he'd slept with since kindergarten.
"Dad?""
I softened my voice immediately.
"Hey, buddy. What's wrong?""
He looked from me to Mercer.
"Why are you talking about Mom?""
Neither of us answered.
Evan descended another step.
"I heard you say someone hurt her.""
I felt my heart sink.
"Evan, come here.""
He stayed where he was.
"Was her accident not an accident?""
His voice was quiet.
That made it worse.
I walked to the stairs.
"There's something about what happened to Mom that I only learned tonight. I don't have all the answers yet.""
"Did someone do it on purpose?""
"I don't know.""
His eyes filled.
"But you're going to find out?""
I rested a hand against the banister.
"Yes.""
He looked past me toward Mercer.
"Did you know my mom?""
Mercer approached slowly.
"Very well.""
"Was she nice?""
The old colonel's face softened.
"She was one of the kindest people I've ever met.""
Evan wiped his nose with his sleeve.
"Did she ever talk about me?""
Mercer's voice cracked.
"Every single time I saw her.""
My son nodded.
Then he looked at me.
"Can I sleep in your room tonight?""
I felt something break quietly inside me.
"Of course, buddy.""
I helped him upstairs, settled him beneath my comforter, and stayed until his breathing grew steady.
When I returned to the kitchen, Mercer was standing beside the refrigerator.
He'd taken down the birthday photograph.
"There's something else," he said.
I was exhausted.
"What?""
He turned the frame over.
A small piece of yellowed paper had been taped to the cardboard backing.
I frowned.
"What's that?""
"Claire gave me this photograph after the funeral. She told me if anyone ever asked questions about the party, I should give it to you.""
"You've had it for nine years?""
"I thought it was just a photograph. I never took it out of the frame.""
He carefully peeled away the paper.
There were numbers written across it.
A date.
A storage-unit address.
And a four-digit access code.
Underneath, in Claire's handwriting, were five words.
Tom kept the wrong copy.
I stared at the note.
Mercer looked at me.
"That storage facility is on the east side of Cedar Falls.""
I took the photograph from his hands.
"Do you have a flashlight?""
"Why?""
"Because we're going.""
He glanced toward the stairs.
"What about Evan?""
I looked at the clock.
10:18 p.m.
Then my phone vibrated.
Rebecca Mills had sent another message.
*Damon, I'm sorry to bother you this late. I just received something from Blake. I think you need to see it.*
Attached was a screenshot from the academy's parent messaging group.
Blake had posted a photograph of me standing on the mat.
Beneath it, he'd written:
This man assaulted me tonight. His name is Damon Cross. If anyone knows his address, contact me privately.
A second message appeared.
This one contained a photograph of my house.
Taken from across the street.
And underneath it:
Found him.
May you like
I looked toward the dark front window.
Then I saw headlights switch off at the end of the cul-de-sac.
