Mercer arrived from the back hallway.
He saw Marcus.
Then the federal warrant.
Color drained from his face.
“What is this?”
Brooks held up the documents.
“Federal search warrant.”
“For what?”
“Your assigned locker and patrol vehicle.”
“This is harassment.”
“No.”
Brooks’s voice stayed flat.
“This is judicial authorization.”
Mercer looked toward Hollis’s office.
“He needs to be here.”
“He’ll be notified.”
Mercer’s locker was opened.
Uniforms.
Spare radio.
Gloves.
Paperwork.
Personal bag.
Nothing obvious at first.
An investigator removed equipment shelf by shelf.
Then stopped.
Behind the spare radio sat a manila packet.
Official federal seal.
Serial number visible.
Brooks checked the inventory record.
Same number.
The missing packet.
Mercer immediately shook his head.
“That isn’t mine.”
Nobody responded.
“I’ve never seen that.”
The investigator placed it in an evidence bag.
“Who planted it?”
Mercer looked at Marcus.
“Him.”
Marcus did not move.
“When exactly did I enter your locker?”