Chapter 11
The bell above the entrance of the county sheriff’s department chimed with irritating cheerfulness as Arthur pushed the glass door open. He strode across the linoleum floor with a purposeful stride, his jaw set, clutching the manila envelope containing Clara's letter and the polaroids under his arm.
Deputy Vance was sitting behind the high reception counter, sorting through a stack of paperwork. When he looked up and saw Arthur approaching, the polite, professional smile on his face faltered slightly.
"Mr. Hayes," Vance said, standing up. "Is there an update on the security system?"
"I have an update for you," Arthur said, his voice sharp enough to draw the attention of two officers sitting at nearby desks. He slapped the manila envelope down onto the counter, sliding it across the polished wood surface until it stopped directly against Vance's coffee cup.
Vance looked down at the envelope, his expression hardening. "What is this?"
"That is a letter from my late wife, detailing your brother Julian's psychotic delusions," Arthur said, leaning over the counter, lowering his voice into a dangerous hiss. "She knew who he was years ago. She documented everything—his obsession, his delusions about my son, and the systemic protection he's apparently received from someone wearing a badge in this very building."
Vance’s face drained of color, his jaw tightening into a hard line. He slowly pushed the envelope back toward Arthur without opening it. "You're making baseless accusations, Mr. Hayes. My brother has had mental health struggles for years, yes, but he lives twenty miles from here. He has nothing to do with your family."
"He was parked three houses down from mine yesterday," Arthur shot back, his fist slamming onto the counter with a loud crack that made several deputies turn around. "He called me by my first name. He knows my kids' routines. And you’ve been running interference for him under the guise of standard police procedure."
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"Step back, Mr. Hayes," Vance warned, his hand dropping casually toward the holster at his hip. His eyes flickered with a dangerous, defensive heat. "You are bordering on harassment and obstruction of an active investigation. I suggest you go home and let the department handle this professionally."
"You're not handling it. You're covering for him," Arthur said, grabbing the envelope and turning on his heel. He didn't trust the police anymore. The system was compromised from the inside out, which meant if his family was going to survive the night, he would have to dismantle the threat with his own two hands.
