“From what?”
“He never said.”
“Then?”
“Twelve hundred.”
“Then fifteen.”
“Then two thousand.”
“How often?”
“Every few months.”
“You paid?”
“I had six employees.”
“A mortgage.”
“My wife was sick.”
“I paid.”
“What happened when you stopped?”
Leon laughed without humor.
“Suddenly I had environmental disposal violations.”
“Then a fire inspection.”
“Then they said customers complained about stolen parts.”
“Did they have evidence?”
“No.”
“Did it matter?”
He pointed toward the dark shop through his kitchen window.
“There’s your answer.”
“Did you report it?”
Leon stared.
“To who?”
“Internal affairs.”
His expression hardened.
“I did.”
“What happened?”
“Sergeant Mark Ellison interviewed me for twenty minutes.”
“Two weeks later I got a letter.”
Leon stood, walked to a drawer, and removed a folded sheet.
He handed it to Celeste.
INTERNAL REVIEW COMPLETE.
ALLEGATION UNSUBSTANTIATED.
NO EVIDENCE OF OFFICER MISCONDUCT.
Celeste read the date.
Eighteen months earlier.
“Any follow-up interview?”
“No.”
“Did they interview witnesses?”
“Not that I know.”
“Review your bank withdrawals?”
“No.”
“Ask for documents?”
“No.”
She folded the letter.
“May I copy this?”
Leon stared at her.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“It’s honest.”
He hesitated.
Then:
“Take it.”
Over the next two days, Celeste listened.
She did not make promises.
She did not tell anyone about her military past.
She asked questions.
At Bell’s Family Restaurant, Curtis Bell sat alone in a dark dining room surrounded by chairs placed upside down on tables.
The restaurant had closed four months earlier.
Curtis was sixty.
He had operated it for twenty-three years.
His wife died six years before.
His son lived in Raleigh.
He had once employed eleven people.
Now he came to the empty restaurant twice a week because, in his words, he did not know where else to sit.
Celeste entered through an unlocked side door.
Curtis looked up.
“You buying chairs?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Nobody wants them.”
She sat across from him.
“Voss came to me.”
Curtis’s face changed.
“How much?”
“Five thousand.”
“First time?”
“Yes.”
“That’s high.”
“He said I’m the last holdout.”
Curtis laughed bitterly.
“Means they’re confident.”
“How much did you pay?”
He looked toward the front windows.
“Over what period?”
Celeste waited.
Curtis finally said:
“Forty-three thousand.”
She did not react.
“Over how long?”
“Two years.”
“You kept records?”
“Bank withdrawals.”
“Some envelopes.”