Page 209
“I see what you've started.”
“That was Grant.”
Mara smiles.
For a second, the room feels warm.
Then a deputy enters carrying an evidence bag.
“Sheriff.”
Tate turns.
“What?”
“We found this in the storm cellar.”
Inside the bag is a cell phone.
Old.
Cracked.
Not a smartphone.
A flip phone.
“When?” Mara asks.
“Behind a loose concrete block. Battery's dead.”
“Any idea how old?”
“Ten years, maybe more.”
Hampton calls from the holding area.
“What kind?”
Everyone looks toward the hallway.
Tate sighs.
“Why are you listening?”
“Because your walls are thin.”
The deputy answers.
“Black Motorola.”
Hampton goes silent.
I look toward the hallway.
“What?”
No answer.
