"He didn't steal anything," Elias said. "Your deputies planted that money."
"That's what he said," Sloan replied. "And you were there, weren't you? Young Eli hiding behind the storeroom door."
Elias felt his hands tighten against his knees. The images came back without permission: his father's feed sacks stacked near the counter, the deputy's flashlight on the floorboards, a canvas bag of county bills appearing beneath a cabinet Walter had cleaned earlier that day. His father's bewilderment became fear only when he realized the officers were not interested in a believable explanation. The man who had overseen that search now sat opposite Elias with three glasses of sweet tea and the expression of someone waiting to be thanked.
Sloan opened a folder. "You never disclosed that history to your supervisors, did you? Personal connection to an old conviction involving this department, unresolved allegations against me, and now you're investigating one of my officers. That's quite a conflict for a federal agent to keep quiet."
Marcus stared at Elias. "Is this true?"
"I grew up here," Elias said. "And he knows what happened to my father."
"I know what a jury decided," Sloan answered. "I also know that your past makes your work vulnerable. I've already submitted a conflict-of-interest complaint through the proper channels. Every attorney who looks at your case will have to ask whether your judgment was impaired from the beginning."
He leaned back and smiled again. It was the most threatening smile Elias had ever seen on a man his age, because every word contained something legally possible. A defense lawyer could challenge evidence gathered by an investigator with an undisclosed personal interest, and the Bureau would have to review its own procedures. Sloan had not invented the problem; Elias had created it by refusing to tell Marcus or Ferreira the truth.
"The investigation doesn't belong to me," Elias said. "Your department's conduct will stand or fall on the evidence."
"Then you won't mind stepping away from it," Sloan replied. "You've waited thirty-one years to come home, Eli. It would be a shame to lose your career in the process."
Elias rose, thanked the chief for the invitation, and walked toward the door. Marcus followed without touching the glass of tea he had been offered. They made it to the parking lot before Marcus spoke. His words came slowly, as though he were holding each one up to the light.
"Eleven years, Elias. Eleven years as partners. I know your children, your wife, where you like to sit at church, and the way you take your coffee. You never thought to tell me the chief of the town we're investigating put your father in prison?"
Elias leaned one hand against the hood of their vehicle. "I knew you'd tell Ferreira. She'd have reassigned me, and I wanted to be here when the truth came out."
"She should have had the choice," Marcus said. "So should I. You didn't just risk your own career. You risked the witnesses who've started trusting us."
Elias did not defend himself. He had spent years imagining that returning to Pell Hollow would require courage, patience, and a perfectly timed confrontation with Sloan. He had not imagined that the first man he would disappoint would be Marcus, the one person he trusted most. The shame of that realization hurt more than the chief's calculated insults.
"Tell me everything," Marcus said. "Not the version you give your supervisors. The whole thing."