She surveyed the scene without blinking. Her eyes passed over the riders, the bandage on Ethan's hands, the security cameras over the bays, and Mercer standing beside the evidence box. Then she walked toward them. “Deputy Mercer?” she asked.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Karen Doyle. Federal financial-crimes task force.” She showed her credentials and gave him time to read them. “I understand a report was made about a hostage situation. Before this grows any stranger, I'd like to tell you why my office has an interest in Harold Caldwell.”
Mercer lowered his notepad. Jack stared at her. “You've been investigating Caldwell?”
“For fourteen months,” Doyle answered. “And it hasn't been easy.”
The last of the joking conversations stopped nearby. Doyle asked to speak with Jack, Ethan, and Mercer at a table inside the waiting room, where she could explain what was appropriate without exposing confidential details to the crowd. Padre joined after Jack invited him to act as another witness. Doyle laid out a brief timeline: multiple suspicious real-estate transactions, allegations of forged easements, unusual insurance claims following fires on two properties, and financial transfers among companies with overlapping owners.
“People have complained,” she said. “Then changed their accounts. Some were frightened. Others signed settlements requiring silence. We haven't had enough independently reliable evidence to connect the harassment to the financial transactions.”
“Hollis came to you?” Ethan asked.
Doyle looked up. “Three weeks ago. He brought survey records, the questionable notice you helped him organize, and a written statement about a man who threatened his livelihood. He mentioned a young mechanic who told him not to throw away the original.”
Ethan flushed. “I just told him to keep what happened straight.”
“That gave us something solid,” Doyle replied. “I started tracing similar documents. Today I received a call that the situation here had escalated.” She glanced toward Jack. “I've been on my way since before the first motorcycle arrived.”
Jack shook his head slowly. “Fourteen months. All this time, you're telling me somebody was looking at Caldwell.”
“We suspected wrongdoing,” Doyle corrected. “Suspicion isn't enough to charge anybody. That's why I need to know exactly what your apprentice has collected and how.”
Ethan opened the box. It was an ordinary cardboard container with a lid that had once held spark plugs. Inside were folders wrapped in clear sleeves, an old notebook, a small portable drive, and several envelopes marked with dates. His handwriting was cramped but consistent. Photographs were printed with captions identifying where he'd stood when he took them. Each recorded statement included whether the speaker had agreed to be recorded and how the file had been stored.
Doyle began examining the contents. She recognized the name on the first page, then another, and then an address she had been trying to connect to a suspicious land transfer for months. She stopped when she reached a copy of the false notice sent to Hollis. A small reference number in the bottom corner matched a number on a transfer document from another victim's property. She took out a pen, wrote the numbers side by side, and looked at Ethan.