Marcus sat opposite him.
“I know.”
“I’ve never reported another officer.”
Marcus waited.
Miller rubbed both hands together.
“Briggs used to joke about the park.”
“What kind of jokes?”
“He called it the ATM.”
Marcus felt something settle in his stomach.
“Why?”
“I thought he meant easy arrests.”
“You don’t anymore.”
Miller shook his head.
People arrested by Briggs sometimes carried cash.
That cash went through property intake.
Then, according to Miller, amounts changed.
Eight hundred dollars became three hundred.
Five hundred became one hundred sixty.
Most suspects never fought it.
They were afraid.
Some were embarrassed.
Others assumed lawyers would cost more than the missing money.
Marcus asked the obvious question.
“Who controlled property intake?”
Miller answered.
“Deputy Chief Foster.”
Marcus leaned back.
Briggs planted evidence.
Foster controlled seized cash and narcotics.
Northstar connected Foster to millions in state contracts.
But there was still a missing level.
“Why tell me now?”
Miller looked through the diner window.
“Because Briggs called me last night.”
“From custody?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Miller’s voice dropped.
“He said they’re going to kill him.”
Marcus stared.
“Who are they?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Anything else?”
Miller nodded.
“He said something weird.”
“What?”
Miller looked directly at Marcus.
“He said, ‘The general wasn’t supposed to fight back.’”
Marcus became very still.
Briggs had known.
The encounter had not been random.
Someone had sent Officer Briggs into the park knowing exactly who Marcus was.
And the plan had required Marcus to be arrested.
Marcus stood.
Miller looked confused.
“Where are you going?”
“To ask Briggs who gave the order.”
They arrived at the detention center forty minutes later.
They were twelve minutes too late.
Briggs’ cell was empty.
He had been transferred.
The paperwork carried a state authorization code.
Marcus recognized the initials at the bottom.
N.R.
Nathan Ross.
Marcus called Ross immediately.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
A third time.
Voicemail.
Marcus requested the transfer destination.
According to the system, Briggs had been moved to a secure state interview facility.
Marcus knew the address.
He and Miller drove there.
The building was dark.
Locked.
Empty.
No Briggs.
No guards.
Marcus called the governor’s office directly.
“Did Colonel Ross authorize a transfer?”
The answer came five minutes later.
No.
The authorization was false.
Marcus sat silently in the passenger seat.
For seventeen years, Nathan Ross had stood beside him.
They had served together after hurricanes.
They had slept on cots in flooded school gyms.
Ross had carried Marcus’s bags into the hospital when Marcus’s wife suffered a stroke.
When she died three years later, Ross sat in the front row at the funeral.
Marcus trusted him with things he did not trust to paper.
