Chapter 4: The Name Jason Didn't Say
The squad car sat in the parking lot for eleven minutes before anyone opened the door.
Jason counted.
He had nothing else to do.
When the door finally opened, it wasn't a junior officer.
Chief Carter folded himself into the front passenger seat, turned around, and looked at Jason through the dividing screen.
He set his phone face-down on the dashboard.
He didn't have a notepad.
He didn't have a recorder running — not visibly.
"You know who I am," the Chief said.
"Yes, sir."
"Then you understand that right now, I am not your friend.
I am not a reasonable adult trying to give you a chance to explain yourself.
I am a father." He let that sit for a moment.
"Do you understand the difference?"
Jason's throat was dry.
"Yes."
"Good.
So I'm going to ask you one question, and I want you to think very carefully before you open your mouth." The Chief's eyes didn't move from Jason's face.
"How long has this been going on?"
Jason said nothing.
"The wheelchair.
The slope.
The phones recording.
That wasn't the first time, was it."
It wasn't a question.
Jason looked at his hands.
"It was the first time I—"
"Don't manage your answer.
How long."
A long pause.
"Since September."
Chief Carter's jaw tightened.
One small movement.
Then stillness again.
"Four months."
"It wasn't always like this.
It started as just—"
"I'm going to stop you there." The Chief's voice dropped half a register.
"Because whatever word you're about to use after 'just' — I don't want to hear it.
There is no 'just' in this conversation."
Jason nodded.
His eyes were burning.
"Who else was involved?"
"I don't want to—"
"That wasn't a request."
The names came out slowly.
Ryan Doyle.
Marcus Webb.
Two others.
Jason gave them all.
He told himself it was because he had no choice, but somewhere underneath that, he knew it was because he was scared, and scared people give up everything eventually.
When he finished, the Chief was quiet for a moment.
"There's something else," Jason said.
The Chief waited.
"My dad." Jason's voice dropped to almost nothing.
"He knows your name.
He's talked about you.
Not — not in a good way."
Chief Carter's expression didn't change.
"What does your father do, Jason?"
"He's on the city council.
District four." A pause.
"His name is Gerald Miller."
The Chief looked at Jason for a long time without speaking.
Then he picked his phone up from the dashboard, turned it over, and looked at the screen.
He had known.
The expression on his face wasn't surprise.
It was confirmation.
"Gerald Miller," he said quietly, almost to himself.
"He doesn't know I'm here," Jason said quickly.
"He doesn't know any of this happened.
I didn't tell him about Emily, I didn't—"
"He will know," the Chief said.
"Very shortly." He opened the car door.
"Sit tight."
The door closed.
Jason pressed his back against the seat and stared at the roof of the squad car.
His father's face appeared in his mind — not angry, not shocked.
Calculating.
That was the word.
Gerald Miller's face when things went wrong was always calculating.
Jason had seen it his whole life.
He had never been on the wrong side of it before.
Outside, through the window, he could see Chief Carter standing ten feet from the car, phone to his ear.
His back was turned.
His shoulders were straight.
He wasn't pacing.
The call lasted less than two minutes.
When it ended, the Chief stood still for a moment with the phone at his side.
Then he turned and looked directly at Jason through the window.
May you like
His expression had changed.
Whatever Gerald Miller had said on that call, it had not helped his son.
