A third contained handwritten accounts from families who had agreed to speak with Elias. Several were signed, each accompanied by a date and a place where the interview had occurred. In another bin, a small notebook contained Elias's observations, questions, and reminders to verify particular statements before repeating them.
"He kept everything," Nolan whispered.
"He kept what might help someone else understand," Silas replied. "That's different. He knew his memory wouldn't be enough once people started denying what they said."
Then headlights swept across the open bay. Decker appeared at the door, one hand raised to signal quiet. Three dark SUVs were coming up the gravel track, their beams bouncing across the cracked yard and the tree trunks beyond. The motorcycles outside were suddenly visible in sharp silhouette. A few men exchanged looks, counting the approaching vehicles and their own numbers. Nobody wanted to leave the records behind, and nobody wanted a fight in an abandoned building that would turn the investigation into something harder to defend.
"Move what we've inventoried," Silas said. "Leave the shelving in place and keep the labels in order. If we have to answer for taking it, we answer for it with a complete record."
The riders formed a short line between the hidden recess and the waiting transport vehicles. Containers passed from one set of hands to the next, documented as they went. Nolan carried the lighter bins, trying not to imagine Elias doing the same thing twenty-two years earlier with no one to help him. The SUVs stopped at the edge of the yard. Their engines remained running, and for nearly a minute nobody emerged. Nolan watched the opaque windshields, thinking about the deliberate silence in the Blackbird Diner when Pike had looked at the cut and walked away.
At last the lead driver's door opened. A man in his late thirties stepped out, wearing a dark jacket and the practiced expression of someone accustomed to delivering unwelcome messages on another man's behalf. Two others emerged from the vehicles behind him, but kept their distance.
"Whoever's in there," the first man called, "come out where we can see you. Bring the papers."
Silas stood in the bay opening without stepping toward the SUVs. The man looked past him at the motorcycles, making a visible calculation that did not end where he'd apparently expected it to. There were far more men than there were vehicles.
"I count thirty bikes," the man said.
"Then look again," Silas replied. "There are thirty-two men with us. And before you draw conclusions, understand that we're here to recover evidence, not to give you the fight you may have come looking for."
The man lifted his chin. "Mr. Pike owns businesses that have been threatened with false accusations. Those materials belong to people who will need them in a legal dispute."
"Then your lawyers can put that position in writing," Silas said. "You don't get to decide it by showing up at night with three vehicles and no papers of your own."
One of the men near the SUV reached inside for something. Silas's voice hardened. "Don't make this worse. Keep your hands visible and leave whatever that is where it is."