The holding cell was eight feet by six feet. Concrete walls. Metal bench. Toilet in the corner that reeked of bleach and desperation. Marcus had processed enough suspects to know exactly what this place was designed to do; break you down, make you feel small, make you ready to confess to anything just to get out.
He sat on the bench, head against the cold wall, and tried to remember.
The hour. That missing hour. It had to be in there somewhere, locked behind whatever door his mind had built to keep him from seeing it. People didn't just lose time. Memory didn't work that way. Even in the worst PTSD episodes, there were fragments. Impressions. Something.
But when Marcus reached for that hour, there was nothing. Just a smooth wall of black where memory should be.
He closed his eyes and forced himself back. Started with what he could remember.
His apartment. The bourbon. He'd poured two fingers, neat, and stood at the window looking out at the city lights. It was 10:43 PM. He remembered checking his watch. Remembered thinking he should call Sarah, apologize for being distant lately, for the gaps he couldn't explain.
Then his phone buzzed.
Marcus's eyes snapped open. The phone. There had been a message. He'd looked down at the screen and….
Nothing. The memory cut off like someone had taken scissors to film.
Next thing he knew, he was in his car. Engine running. Hands on the wheel. And his phone was giving him directions to Pier Street.
No, that wasn't quite right. His phone wasn't giving directions. It was just showing an address. 1247 Pier Street. Like he already knew where he was going.
Like he'd been there before.
Marcus stood, paced the small cell. Three steps to the wall, turn, three steps back. Had he been to that warehouse before? He pulled case files through his memory. Nothing. Pier Street wasn't part of his beat, and wasn't connected to any of his open investigations.
So why had he gone there?
And why had Miguel Reyes been waiting?
Because Reyes had been waiting. Marcus was sure of that now. The way the body had been positioned when he'd come back to himself; Reyes hadn't been running, hadn't been fighting. He'd been standing there, like he was expecting someone.
Like he was expecting Marcus.
The cell door clanged open. A guard stood there, expression neutral. "Kane. Your lawyer's here."
Marcus followed him down the corridor, past other cells holding other suspects. Some sleeping. Some pacing. One guy screaming about conspiracy and government mind control. Marcus wondered if he'd sound like that soon.
The consultation room was barely bigger than the cell. Gray table. Two chairs. And sitting in one of them was a man Marcus didn't recognize.
Mid-forties. Expensive suit. Silver hair slicked back. He looked like money and power and the kind of lawyer who got guilty people acquitted on procedural technicalities.
"Detective Kane." The man stood, extended his hand. "Leonard Reeves. Captain Devereaux retained my services on your behalf."
Marcus didn't shake. "I didn't ask for Devereaux's help."
"No, but you need it." Reeves sat back down, opened a briefcase, pulled out a file. "I've reviewed the preliminary evidence. This is bad, Detective. Very bad. But it's not unwinnable."
"I don't want to win. I want to know what happened to me."
Reeves looked up, one eyebrow raised. "That's an interesting priority for a man facing Murder One."
"I killed someone."
"Allegedly."
"I was covered in his blood. I called it in myself. There's no allegedly here." Marcus sat down across from Reeves. "What I need to know is why I don't remember doing it. And why there was a message on my phone confirming a target I never agreed to eliminate."
"About that message." Reeves pulled out a printout. "The DA is going to argue this proves premeditation. That you were hired to kill Reyes, that you confirmed the hit, and that you executed him according to plan."
"That's insane. I'm not a contract killer."
"Then help me understand the message. Who sent it? Who received it?"
Marcus shook his head. "I don't know. The number wasn't in my contacts. And I don't remember sending the confirmation."
"That's going to be a problem."
"Everything about this is a problem." Marcus leaned forward. "Mr. Reeves. Three years ago, I was treated at the Meridian Institute for PTSD. Since then, I've had gaps. Lost time. Minutes at first, then hours. I've been dismissing them as side effects of the treatment. But what if they weren't? What if something was done to me there?"
Reeves studied him for a long moment. "You're talking about an insanity defense."
"I'm talking about the truth."
"The truth, Detective Kane, is that insanity defenses almost never work. And even when they do, you don't walk free. You spend the rest of your life in a psychiatric facility, possibly more heavily medicated than if you'd just taken a plea deal."
"So what are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting we argue diminished capacity due to PTSD. Combat stress resurfacing. You had a break, killed Reyes in a fugue state, and immediately called for help because your rational mind kicked back in. We get you a psychiatric evaluation, show a pattern of trauma, and negotiate a plea. Manslaughter, not murder. You do eight to twelve, maybe less with good behavior."
Marcus stared at him. "You want me to plead guilty."
"I want you to survive this. And right now, that's your best option."
"No."
"Detective…."
"I didn't just have a break. I was controlled. Something took over and used me to kill that man, and I need to know what and why." Marcus stood. "So either help me figure that out, or tell Devereaux to find me a different lawyer."
Reeves closed his file slowly. "You understand what you're asking? You want me to investigate a conspiracy theory about mind control while the DA builds an airtight case for premeditated murder?"
"Yes."
"That's professional suicide for both of us."
"Then I guess we're both fucked." Marcus moved toward the door, then stopped. "Mr. Reeves. Did Devereaux tell you to push the plea deal?"
The pause was answer enough.
"I thought so." Marcus knocked on the door, signaling the guard. "Tell the captain thanks, but I'll find my own representative."
"Kane, wait…."
But the guard was already opening the door, already leading Marcus back to his cell. As they walked the corridor, Marcus's mind was working. Devereaux had sent him to Meridian. Devereaux had sent him this lawyer. Devereaux wanted him to plead guilty and disappear into the system.
Which meant Devereaux knew something. Or was hiding something.
Or was part of something.
Back in his cell, Marcus lay on the metal bench and stared at the ceiling. Somewhere out there, Sarah was trying to help him. He'd seen it in her eyes at the warehouse, the determination to find answers even when the evidence said he was guilty.
But Sarah was one detective against an entire system. Against a DA who wanted a conviction. Against a captain who seemed very interested in making sure Marcus went quietly.
Against whoever had programmed him to kill.
Marcus closed his eyes and tried again to remember. Pushed against that black wall in his mind. And for just a second, just a fraction of a moment, something flickered.
A voice. Calm. Measured. Familiar.
'Protocol engaged. Target acquired. Execute.'
Marcus's eyes snapped open. His heart hammered against his ribs.
He knew that voice.
He'd heard it every day for the past ten years.
It was Captain Richard Devereaux.