“Be careful, Daniel,” Reyes said. “The Coles own half the county. They have the local judges on retainer and the chief of police in their pocket. If you push them, they will push back with everything they have.”
“I only need five minutes,” I said.
“Five minutes is enough time to bury a man,” Reyes said. “Just remember who you are now. You are Daniel Walker. You are not the Colonel anymore.”
I hung up the phone and watched the campus lights burn steady against the dark.
The next morning, I drove my old blue sedan north, past the sprawling estates where the grass was kept short by private crews. The oak trees along the avenue were turning gold, their leaves dropping onto the clean black asphalt.
The Oak Ridge Country Club sat behind two miles of white picket fence that had been painted so many times the wood looked smooth like white plastic. I parked in the back lot, between two shining European SUVs.
The dining room smelled of lemon wax and toasted pecans. Tall windows looked out over the eighteenth green, where three men in white visors were watching a ball roll toward the cup.
A young woman in a black apron asked for my member card at the door. I did not stop, walking past her into the main room.
Ethan Cole sat at a corner table by the terrace doors. He was twenty years old, wearing a light blue polo shirt with the collar turned up. Two other boys sat with him, passing a basket of warm rolls.
They laughed at something Ethan said.
I walked across the carpet, my boots making no sound on the thick green wool.
Ethan did not look up until I stood directly over his salad plate, blocking the light from the tall window.
“Ethan Cole,” I said.
He blinked, his fork hovering over a cherry tomato. He had clean skin and bright teeth.
“Do I know you?” Ethan asked.
I took my phone from my pocket and tapped the screen. I set it on the white tablecloth next to his crystal water glass.
The screen showed Lily in room four twelve, her face swollen, the steel wires holding her teeth in place.
Ethan looked at the screen, then looked up at me. He cracked his knuckles, one by one, under the edge of the table.
“I do not know who that is,” Ethan said.
The boy to his left stopped chewing his roll and stared at the photo.
“Her name is Lily Walker,” I said. “She was in the plaza on Tuesday night.”
Ethan pushed the phone away with the tip of his silver butter knife.
“You have the wrong table, mister,” Ethan said. “We do not know any state school girls.”
He looked back at his friends and smiled, a tiny twitch of his lip.
“And we do not like people interrupting our lunch,” he added.
I reached down and picked up my phone, my thumb rubbing the silver skull coin in my pocket.
“She has six fractures in her jaw,” I said.
“Then she should have watched where she was going,” Ethan said.
His friend laughed, a quick snort into his water glass.
“You were wearing white sneakers on Tuesday,” I said. “Where are they now?”
Ethan’s smile faded. He set his fork down on his plate with a sharp clink.
“I do not have to talk to you,” Ethan said. “Get out of here before I call security.”
I turned and walked toward the lobby.
The oak panels on the wall were polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the light from the brass chandeliers.
Before I reached the double glass doors of the entrance, a man stepped out of the private card room.
He was fifty-six, with thick silver hair and a heavy gold signet ring on his pinky. He wore a gray wool blazer and smelled of expensive cedarwood and cigar smoke.
“I am Thomas Cole,” the man said.
He did not offer his hand.
“Mr. Cole,” I said. “Your son was in the plaza.”
“My son was at a study group,” Thomas Cole said. His voice was quiet, but it filled the small lobby. “And you are trespassing on private property.”
“There are security logs,” I said.
“There is nothing,” Thomas Cole said. He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “I know your name, Walker. I know you run a small-time security outfit out of a brick house on Elm Street.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold cutter, placing it on the wooden reception desk.
“If you speak to my son again,” he said, “I will have your county business license revoked before sunset.”
“Is that a threat?” I asked.
“It is a business decision,” Thomas Cole said. “Now get off my grass.”
I looked at the gold cutter on the desk. It had a sharp, circular blade designed to clip the ends of expensive cigars.
“The police will want to see his sneakers,” I said.
“The police work for the county,” Thomas Cole said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I own the county. You have three minutes to get your car out of my parking lot.”
Two men in green club blazers appeared from the office behind the desk.
They did not touch me, but they stood close enough that I could smell their laundry detergent.
“This way, sir,” the taller one said.
They walked me through the double glass doors.
My boots clicked on the concrete steps.
I walked to my sedan, the heat of the autumn sun warming the roof.
I parked near a small flower stand on the corner of Main Street. The florist was tying a yellow ribbon around a bundle of chrysanthemums, nodding to a regular customer.
I watched them for a moment, remembering when Lily was that small, her hands sticky with sugar.
The state senator’s local office was located in a restored red-brick bank on Main Street. The glass doors had gold lettering that read State Senator Margaret Hale.
Margaret Hale sat behind a desk made of dark walnut. A silk scarf with a green leaf pattern was knotted around her neck.
“Mr. Walker,” she said, her voice smooth and even, practiced for the cameras. “Please, sit.”
I remained standing.
“I want an independent state investigation into the campus security lights,” I said.
Senator Hale smoothed her silk scarf with her thumb and forefinger.
“I heard about your daughter’s accident,” she said. “It is a terrible tragedy. Truly. Every parent in this district is praying for her recovery.”
“It was not an accident,” I said. “The lights were shut off from the junction box.”
She shook her head, her face settling into an expression of sympathy that did not reach her eyes.
“Campus administration has complete authority over their own grid,” she said. “The state senate has no jurisdiction over university grounds. Our hands are legally tied.”
“The board of trustees votes on your new science building funding on November twelfth,” I said. “Your husband’s firm is the primary contractor.”
Senator Hale did not blink. Her hand remained still on her scarf.
“My son has a bright future, Mr. Walker, and your daughter does not concern us,” Senator Hale said.
The room went completely silent.
