Marcus looked inside.
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
She nodded.
“Better answer.”
He laughed quietly.
Before leaving, Brooks handed him something.
The leather credential case.
His original badge.
The one Mercer had pulled from beneath the seat.
It had been held as evidence for months.
Marcus opened it.
The gold badge caught the light.
Same scratches.
Same photograph.
Same name.
Marcus Vance.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Brooks said:
“You know what everybody keeps calling this?”
“What?”
“The thing that ended Mercer.”
Marcus looked at the badge.
“No.”
“What ended Mercer?”
“He did.”
Brooks smiled slightly.
Marcus closed the case.
“The badge just made it harder for him to pretend.”
That afternoon, Marcus drove back along Riverside Drive.
Not intentionally at first.
His navigation route simply took him there.
Same oaks.
Same large houses.
Same sidewalks.
He passed the place where the stop had happened.
For a second, his hands tightened on the wheel.
He could still see the scene.
Clothes on asphalt.
Documents blowing toward the gutter.