Chapter 68: Aftermath and Intel
[Mid-Wilshire Station — November 4, 2019, 8:17 AM]
Tim's Heist trophy sat on his desk like a religious artifact.
He'd positioned it precisely—angled to catch the light from the window, visible from every direction, impossible to miss for anyone entering the bullpen. A small plaque had been added sometime over the weekend: "SUPREME DETECTIVE/GENIUS — HALLOWEEN HEIST 2019."
"You had a plaque made," I observed.
"Custom ordered. Expedited shipping." Tim straightened the trophy minutely. "This victory will be remembered."
"For how long?"
"Forever. Or until I win next year and need a bigger trophy case."
The station was nursing a collective hangover—not from alcohol, but from the week of competitive intensity that had preceded the Heist. Nolan was still reviewing his strategy notes, trying to identify where he'd gone wrong. Lopez had reportedly fired her entire legal alliance and was already recruiting for next year. Jackson had made enough money from information brokering to buy new gaming equipment, which he considered the true victory.
Normal patrol would resume today. The chaos was over.
But something was bothering me.
My recall scanned through the Heist events, cataloguing participants and activities. Everyone from the station had been involved in some capacity—either as competitors, supporters, or reluctant observers.
Everyone except Armstrong.
Detective Nick Armstrong, whose glad-handing presence typically dominated station social events, had been conspicuously absent from the entire Heist week. No participation. No spectating. No congratulations to the winners.
My danger sense pulsed with the familiar pressure of something wrong.
Later That Day — Evidence Storage Corridor
I manufactured an excuse to pass through the evidence wing during my lunch break—paperwork for an old case that needed filing. The real purpose was observation.
Armstrong had been here three times in the past week. My documentation showed it clearly: October 27th, October 29th, and October 31st—the day of the Heist, while everyone was distracted by competition.
What had he been doing while the rest of us hunted for a trophy?
I checked the evidence logs for those dates. Cases he'd been working showed standard activity. But my lie detection had learned to spot patterns in data, not just spoken words. The timestamps clustered suspiciously around Lopez's active investigations.
Three of her current cases had evidence checked out during Armstrong's visits. Two had since experienced "chain of custody irregularities." One had been dismissed entirely due to missing documentation.
The pattern was undeniable. Armstrong was sabotaging Lopez's work, building a foundation for something larger. Frame-up preparation, executed with patience and precision.
I photographed the logs with my phone, added them to the growing file.
Ethan's Mansion — That Evening
The Armstrong file had grown thick.
Two years of documentation spread across my desk—photographs, timestamps, observations, patterns. The evidence pointed clearly toward corruption: meetings with known criminals, presence near sabotaged evidence, cases that fell apart under his supervision.
But pointing wasn't proving. Every piece was circumstantial. Every observation could be explained away with alternative interpretations.
I needed him caught in the act. An undeniable moment that couldn't be dismissed.
My phone buzzed. Tim: Debrief tomorrow. 0600. Don't be late.
The Heist was over. But Tim hadn't forgotten our conversation about "the thing I mentioned"—the someone I'd been watching.
I'll be there.
I closed the Armstrong file, secured it in the safe, and stared at the ceiling.
Lopez was in danger. Every day I waited was another day Armstrong built his case against her. But moving too early would expose my investigation without results. He'd deny everything, I'd have no credible evidence, and my accusation would become ammunition against me.
Patience. The word had become both strategy and torture.
The Next Morning — Tim's Truck
"You said you wanted to talk after the Heist." Tim's coffee sat untouched in the cupholder. "I've been watching you the past few days. You're distracted. Checking corners. Reviewing logs that aren't related to our cases."
"You noticed that."
"I notice everything about my boot. Keeps both of us alive." He turned to face me directly. "The corruption thing. The someone you're watching. Are you ready to tell me who?"
I considered the question carefully. Tim had offered to help when I had evidence. The question was whether I had enough now to justify bringing him in.
"Not yet," I said finally. "Soon. The situation is developing faster than I expected, but I still need more before I can act."
"How much more?"
"One undeniable moment. Something that can't be explained away."
Tim was quiet for a long moment. "You're watching someone at the station."
"Yes."
"Someone with enough power that you can't go to Grey without proof."
"Yes."
"Someone who's hurt people. Or will hurt people if you don't stop them."
"Yes."
Tim nodded slowly, processing. "When you're ready, come to me first. Don't try to handle this alone."
"I know."
"I mean it, Mercer. Whatever this is, it's bigger than you're letting on. I can see it in how careful you're being." He started the truck's engine. "Don't get yourself killed before you can prove anything."
The words carried weight—Tim's way of saying he cared without actually saying it.
"I'll be careful."
"You better be."
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them . No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1