Chapter 6 - The Dead Surveyor’s Affidavit
The dead surveyor's name was Paul Mercer.
His signature appeared on an affidavit supposedly sworn three months earlier.
The attached notarial seal belonged to Lydia Crane.
Two documents.
One notary whose journal had vanished.
One dead witness who could not challenge a single word.
June went directly to the court to dispute the filing.
I accompanied Mom to a follow-up appointment and refused the temptation to insert myself into June's work.
The physician explained the expected healing time, possible complications, and the importance of rest.
Mom nodded at every instruction but kept staring at her injured wrist.
"I made Arthur's lunches with this hand," she said when we were alone.
"I remember."
"I used to write him notes. Little jokes so he wouldn't feel lonely at school."
She looked at me.
"I don't understand how he became someone who could watch that happen."
There was no answer that would heal her faster.
By afternoon, Rachel informed June that the county would seek forensic examination of the purported notarial seals.
She also disclosed a startling preliminary result.
The baseball bat had been found.
It was not in the house.
A sanitation worker had noticed it protruding from a dumpster behind the police station.
The worker reported it after hearing about the case.
The bat had been wrapped in the same blue-and-white fibers as Mom's porch blanket.
I remembered the footprints leading to the evidence room.
Someone might have moved physical evidence before discarding the weapon, but suspicion wasn't proof.
Rachel would have to establish its entire route.
That evening, a local reporter called asking whether I intended to use my position to retaliate against officers.
I gave a single response.
"I am a family member in this matter, and independent authorities are reviewing the facts."
The reporter asked if Mom was mentally competent.
I ended the call.
Five minutes later, the same question appeared in a headline on a local news site.
Below it was a photograph of Mom being escorted toward a patrol car.
The article described her as violent and disoriented.
Someone had leaked the arrest report before its accuracy was tested.
Mom read the headline on my phone before I could hide it.
"People at church will see that," she said.
I put the device away.
"People at church also know you."
But the harm was real.
A lie had traveled farther in one morning than the truth could in a week.
June filed a preservation demand concerning the unauthorized release.
Later that night, Lydia Crane called from a number I did not recognize.
Her voice was thin.
"I was told not to speak to you," she said.
"Then speak to Rachel. I'll connect you."
"Someone is following my daughter."
"Where are you?"
"Outside the courthouse."
A car horn sounded sharply in the background.
Lydia gasped.
May you like
Then the call ended.
