Chapter 3: The Sheriff Makes an Offer
Voss didn't take me to an interrogation room.
He took me to his office.
It was larger than the booking area, with dark wooden furniture, leather chairs, and a mounted deer head above a framed photograph of the Georgia state capitol.
A silver coffee pot sat on a side table.
Beside it was a bottle of expensive bourbon.
Voss removed his hat and hung it on a brass hook.
"Sit.""
I remained standing.
He smiled.
"Still giving orders?""
"I'm waiting for you to explain why I'm here.""
He placed my identification card on his desk.
"You're here because you made a mistake.""
"Which was?""
"Coming into Randolph County without telling anybody who you were.""
"I am not required to announce my presence to a county sheriff.""
"Maybe in Washington.""
"Macon, actually.""
He ignored me.
"You're a federal judge. Fine. Congratulations. But that doesn't mean you can wander around my county, ask questions, and interfere with active investigations.""
"I haven't interfered with anything.""
"You talked to Jamal Price.""
I didn't respond.
Voss opened a desk drawer and removed a manila envelope.
"Here's what I know. You arrived at the Kettle & Comb at 2:17 p.m. You spoke to three customers.
You asked the waitress about the sheriff's department. Then you started making trouble.""
"None of that is a crime.""
He pulled out a photograph.
It showed me entering the diner.
Another showed me sitting at my booth.
A third showed Martha carrying a coffee pot.
The photographs were taken from outside.
I looked at them carefully.
"Who took these?""
"People who care about this county.""
"How long have you been monitoring that diner?""
Voss smiled.
"Long enough.""
He placed another photograph on the desk.
This one showed Jamal standing beside a pickup truck.
His brother Marcus stood beside him.
Both men were smiling.
"Jamal Price has a history of violence," Voss said.
"Was he convicted?""
"He's a known troublemaker.""
"That's not a conviction.""
Voss sighed.
"You federal people love your paperwork.""
"Paperwork is how we distinguish accusations from facts.""
He opened the envelope.
Inside were photographs of seized cash, vehicle registration documents, and handwritten receipts.
I recognized the format.
Civil asset forfeiture records.
Several pages were missing.
"Where did you get these?"" I asked.
"County records.""
"These records appear incomplete.""
"Then you should talk to the county clerk.""
"I intend to.""
His expression changed.
"You don't need to.""
"Why?""
"Because this county handles its own business.""
He leaned back.
"Here's the deal. You walk out of here. You forget about Jamal Price.
You forget about Marcus. You forget about whatever story that waitress whispered into your ear.""
I remained silent.
"And I make sure you get home safely.""
"Is that a threat?""
"It's a courtesy.""
"Those are not the same thing.""
He reached into another drawer and pulled out a thick envelope.
He placed it between us.
"Fifty thousand dollars.""
I stared at it.
"What is that?""
"Travel expenses. Compensation for your inconvenience.""
"You are offering a federal judge fifty thousand dollars?""
He shrugged.
"I'm offering a woman fifty thousand dollars.""
I looked at the envelope.
Then at him.
"Do you understand what you're doing?""
Voss laughed.
"Do you?""
I took a slow breath.
"Your offer is being documented.""
He frowned.
"By who?""
"That isn't important.""
He stood.
"You think your title scares me?""
"No.""
"Then why are you so calm?""
"Because I have spent my career watching men confuse authority with immunity.""
For several seconds, the only sound was the ticking clock behind his desk.
Then he picked up the envelope.
"You know what happens to people who come here asking questions?""
"They get answers?""
He slapped the envelope down.
"They disappear from the conversation.""
I watched him.
"Is that what happened to Marcus Price?""
His face hardened.
"Marcus Price was a criminal.""
"Was he armed?""
"That's classified.""
"Did he threaten anyone?""
"He resisted.""
"Was there an autopsy?""
Voss leaned across the desk.
"You're getting close to something you don't understand.""
"Then explain it.""
He stared at me.
Finally, he smiled.
"You're not going to leave here today.""
He pressed a button on his desk phone.
"Bring in the paperwork.""
Deputy Bell entered carrying a stack of documents.
Voss handed him a pen.
"She needs to sign a statement admitting she interfered with a lawful investigation.""
I read the first page.
It claimed I had entered the diner to intimidate a witness, obstructed a lawful search, and threatened a deputy.
It also contained a paragraph stating that I had voluntarily surrendered my federal credentials.
I looked up.
"I won't sign this.""
Voss shrugged.
"Then you stay.""
"You're detaining a federal judge without a lawful basis.""
"You're a woman in my custody.""
"That distinction will be important in court.""
He stepped behind me.
"Maybe you need a little time to reconsider.""
Bell moved toward the door.
Before he could leave, the office phone rang.
Voss answered.
"What?""
A pause.
"What do you mean?""
His eyes shifted toward me.
"Who?""
Another pause.
Then he slammed the receiver down.
I watched his expression.
"What happened?""
"Nothing.""
He snatched my identification card from the desk.
"Get her back downstairs.""
Bell opened the door.
As he escorted me into the corridor, I noticed a document lying on a filing cabinet.
It was a photocopy of a federal subpoena.
My eyes caught the heading.
UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT.
Below it was a case number.
I knew that number.
It belonged to a sealed civil rights investigation that had not yet been publicly filed.
I stopped walking.
Bell grabbed my arm.
"Keep moving.""
"Where did you get that document?""
"Not your business.""
"Who gave it to the sheriff?""
He shoved me forward.
The answer didn't matter.
Somebody had leaked confidential federal information.
And that meant the corruption went beyond a county sheriff.
Back inside the holding block, Keisha was waiting.
She rushed toward the bars.
"Did you see him?""
"Yes.""
"Did he offer you money?""
I looked at her.
"How did you know?""
"Because that's what he does.""
She lowered her voice.
"Marcus refused it.""
"What was Marcus being paid to keep quiet about?""
Keisha glanced toward the security camera.
Then she whispered.
"The money wasn't just coming from traffic stops.""
She reached beneath her mattress again.
This time, she pulled out a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph of a man in a suit shaking hands with Sheriff Voss.
I recognized him immediately.
Randolph County Commissioner Everett Shaw.
The man from the photograph in the lobby.
On the back, someone had written:
*EVERY FRIDAY. THE COURTHOUSE. ROOM 203.*
"Who took this?"" I asked.
"Marcus.""
"Why?""
"He said Commissioner Shaw was collecting the money before it disappeared.""
I looked at the photograph again.
The commissioner was smiling.
Voss was smiling.
Neither man looked particularly worried.
Then Keisha said something that made my blood run cold.
"Marcus didn't die because he saw them stealing money.""
"Why did he die?""
"Because he found the names of the people they were paying.""
I turned the photograph over.
Beneath the handwritten message was a second line.
*ONE OF THEM WORKS IN YOUR COURTHOUSE.*
Before I could ask what she meant, the intercom crackled.
"Amara Whitlock. Report to the sheriff's office.""
May you like
Voss's voice followed.
"Your ride is here.""
