Chapter 24 - The Night at Vance Automotive
Miller wanted the shop evacuated.
I refused.
Then Sarah threatened to have me declared legally insane.
Eventually we compromised.
The employees left.
The boys stayed at a protected residence with Melissa and armed agents.
I remained near the shop—but not inside it.
Federal tactical teams concealed themselves in surrounding buildings.
The lights stayed on.
My pickup sat outside.
From the street, Vance Automotive looked occupied.
A mannequin wearing my work jacket sat behind the office desk.
Tyler had laughed when we built it.
Nobody was laughing now.
I watched security feeds from a surveillance van two blocks away.
Miller sat beside me.
“If Mercer comes, you do nothing.”
“I know.”
“You remain here.”
“I know.”
“You do not suddenly discover your inner action hero.”
“I fix transmissions for a living.”
“You chased an armed suspect six months ago.”
“He wasn’t armed.”
“You didn’t know that.”
Fair.
At 11:40 PM, nothing had happened.
Midnight.
Nothing.
1:15.
Nothing.
At 2:07, a figure appeared near the alley.
Dark clothing.
Baseball cap.
He moved slowly.
Avoided streetlights.
Miller touched his radio.
“Hold positions.”
The figure approached the rear fence.
Cut nothing.
Instead, he used a key.
My blood ran cold.
He entered the property.
Camera three captured his face.
Hal Mercer.
Older than the photographs.
Thinner.
But unmistakable.
He moved toward the rear service door.
Another key.
“How does he have those?” I whispered.
Miller answered, “Grant probably copied them years ago.”
Mercer entered the shop.
No agents moved.
They wanted him fully inside.
Wanted evidence of burglary, stalking, attempted destruction, whatever he intended.
Mercer walked through the service bay.
He paused beneath the place where my old sign had hung.
Then entered the office.
The mannequin sat at the desk facing away.
Mercer drew a handgun.
Everything changed.
Miller raised his radio.
“Move.”
Before agents could breach, Mercer fired twice.
The mannequin collapsed.
Mercer froze.
He realized instantly.
Trap.
He ran.
Tactical officers entered front and rear.
“Federal agents! Drop the weapon!”
Mercer fired toward the ceiling lights.
Darkness.
He crashed through the parts room.
A side window shattered.
Agents shouted outside.
I watched camera feeds fail one after another.
Then Mercer appeared on an exterior camera.
Running toward the alley.
A federal officer tackled him.
Mercer fired.
The shot missed.
Another officer struck the weapon away.
For three seconds, bodies filled the frame.
Then Mercer broke free.
He sprinted toward the street.
A car accelerated from nowhere.
Not police.
It slammed into a parked vehicle, blocking agents.
Mercer jumped into the passenger side.
The car sped away.
Miller swore.
“Who was driving?”
Nobody knew.
I stared at the frozen camera image.
Driver partly visible.
Dark hair.
Female.
Melissa?
Impossible.
She was under protection.
Then the camera angle sharpened.
Not Melissa.
Someone else.
Miller ran facial recognition.
Twenty minutes later, he had a name.
Rebecca Mercer.
Hal’s younger sister.
Former accountant.
No criminal record.
She had disappeared from her home four days earlier.
“She’s helping him,” I said.
“Looks like it.”
That changed the hunt.
Mercer was not alone.
At 3:30, agents searched Rebecca’s house.
They found evidence she had recently withdrawn forty thousand dollars.
A note in her kitchen said:
HE SAVED ME ONCE. NOW I SAVE HIM.
Family loyalty again.
But under her mattress, agents found a postcard.
Pinecrest Lake.
No message.
Only a cabin number written on the back.
Cabin 14.
Miller compared it with property records.
Not the land-trust cabin already searched.
Different property.
Old fishing resort.
Closed for winter.
Owned by a corporation connected to Rebecca.
Teams deployed immediately.
I waited.
This time there would be no sleep.
At sunrise, Miller received a radio update.
Cabin 14 was occupied.
Two heat signatures.
Agents surrounded the property.
Commands were issued.
No response.
Then a gunshot.
My heart stopped.
Another.
Officers breached.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Finally Miller’s radio crackled.
“Female subject in custody.”
“And Mercer?” he asked.
Pause.
“Negative. Tunnel beneath the cabin.”
Miller slammed his fist against the table.
Mercer had escaped again.
But Rebecca was alive.
And furious.
Within an hour, she started talking.
Not because she feared prison.
Because Hal had abandoned her.
“He promised we would leave together,” she said.
Then she gave investigators one address.
A place Mercer called his final insurance policy.
It was not a house.
Not a warehouse.
May you like
Not a bank.
It was Oakridge Elementary School.
