Names.
Times.
Then he asked,
“You built all this yourself?”
Marcus shrugged.
“I’m retired.”
“That doesn't answer the question.”
“I had time.”
Mercer almost smiled.
Then became serious.
“We’ve already heard Miller’s name.”
Marcus looked up.
“You’re investigating him?”
“I didn't say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Mercer studied him.
“You always this difficult?”
“Since Korea.”
Mercer frowned.
“You’re not old enough for Korea.”
Marcus smiled.
“Good. You’re paying attention.”
That was the first moment Mercer laughed.
Three meetings followed.
The FBI did not tell Marcus everything.
He did not ask for everything.
What became clear was that investigators suspected a small group of officers had been stealing cash from evidence and drug seizures, then using part of it to manufacture arrests against people they believed would be easy to convict.
Sergeant Dale Rourke appeared repeatedly in chain-of-custody records.
Miller appeared more.
But suspicion was not proof.
The officers were careful on paper.
Then Marcus told Mercer about his plan.
“I’m going to the precinct.”
Mercer looked at him.
“No.”
“They’ll talk around me.”
“No.”
“They think I’m a deaf old man.”
“That is not a reason for a seventy-two-year-old civilian to insert himself into an active corruption investigation.”
Marcus adjusted his hearing aid.
“I’ve been underestimated for seventy-two years.”
Mercer leaned forward.
“You can get hurt.”
“I can get hurt crossing the street.”
“That isn't authorization.”
Marcus smiled.
“I didn’t ask.”
Mercer stared at him for a long moment.
Then said,
“If you walk into that precinct on your own, I cannot direct you to secretly gather evidence.”
“Good.”
“But if you insist on visiting a public lobby to inquire about your grandson’s case, I also cannot stop you.”
“Also good.”
Mercer exhaled.
“What exactly are you proposing?”
Marcus touched the hearing aid.
His audiologist had recently fitted him with a modern device capable of sending audio to a connected phone for remote assistance and transcription.
Marcus had modified nothing illegally.
But Mercer’s technical team could connect the paired phone to a secure remote receiver and preserve whatever the phone legitimately captured from the hearing aid microphones.
It would not hear through walls.
It would not magically isolate distant whispers.
But in a quiet lobby and open corridor, conversation nearby could be captured clearly enough to matter.
Mercer hated the idea.
His supervisor hated it more.
Marcus went anyway.
So they prepared for the possibility rather than pretend he would listen.
That was why the red dot had been blinking for two hours and fourteen minutes before Miller crushed the hearing aid.
Marcus entered the 14th Precinct at 8:19 that morning.
He carried his cane.
Wore his Army jacket.
Sat in the waiting room.
Then asked the desk officer a simple question.
“I’d like to speak with someone about property recovered during my grandson’s arrest.”
He was told to wait.
So he waited.
Thirty minutes later, he asked again.
Another officer told him the case was with the district attorney.
Marcus said,
“I’m asking about where the cash was recovered.”
The officer became less polite.
Marcus returned to his chair.
At 9:04, Officer Miller entered the lobby.
He recognized Marcus immediately.
“You.”
Marcus looked up.
“Morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Asking a question.”
“Go ask your grandson’s lawyer.”
“I did.”
Miller stared.
Marcus adjusted his hearing aid.
Miller’s eyes followed the movement.
That mattered later.
At 9:26, Sergeant Rourke came through the corridor.
He stopped when he saw Marcus.
“What’s he doing here?”
Miller lowered his voice.
“Still asking about the cash.”
Rourke looked toward Marcus.
The old man appeared to be reading.
Then Rourke said,
“Leave him. He’ll get tired.”
Marcus did not get tired.
At 9:51, he asked to file a property inquiry.
Miller laughed.
At 10:03, Miller and Rourke walked toward the holding-cell corridor.
They stopped less than thirty feet from where Marcus sat.
They believed the old man could barely hear.
They also believed the lobby noise would cover them.
Miller said,
“The kid’s lawyer requested camera logs.”
Rourke replied,
“So?”
“So internal is sniffing around.”
“They got nothing.”
“They got the reboot.”
Silence.
Then Rourke:
“You told them battery glitch?”
“Yeah.”
“Then keep saying battery glitch.”
Marcus did not move.
His paperback remained open.
Miller said,
“What about Cole?”
“Cole didn’t see anything.”
“He knows I went back to the unit.”
“He knows you went to get gloves.”
“I didn’t get gloves.”
Rourke’s voice hardened.
“You did if anybody asks.”
Marcus turned one page.
His heart rate increased.
His face did not.
Then came the sentence Mercer had been waiting weeks to hear.
Miller laughed softly.
“Still can’t believe that dumb kid never saw the pouch.”
Rourke answered,
“He was looking at Cole.”
“Best twelve grand I ever found.”
“Six.”
“What?”
“Six. Other six goes back in rotation.”
Miller lowered his voice further.
“Whose car next?”
Rourke said something Marcus could not make out.
Then:
“Not until this blows over.”
Marcus’s finger stopped on the page.
Every word streamed through the phone in his pocket.
Somewhere nearby, Daniel Mercer was listening.
At 10:17, Miller came back into the lobby.
He saw Marcus still sitting there.
Something about that irritated him.
Maybe fear.
Maybe arrogance.
Maybe both.
“You still here?”
Marcus looked up.
“Yes.”
“I told you to leave.”
“You suggested it.”
Miller stepped closer.
“What do you want?”
“To know where you found the money.”
Miller stared.
Marcus continued.
“Exactly.”
Something changed in Miller’s face.
“Under the passenger seat.”
“How far under?”
“What?”
“Front edge? Rear? Against the rail?”
“Why?”
“Isaiah says you searched that side last.”
Miller’s expression hardened.
“Your grandson says a lot.”
Marcus touched his hearing aid.
“Could you speak up?”
That was the bait.
Miller took it.
He leaned closer.
“You deaf?”
“Partly.”
“Then maybe that’s your problem.”