The skin around his eyes tightened, and he glanced toward the hallway door.

“How many?” Julian asked.

He listened for another three seconds before slamming the phone down.

“We have a problem,” Julian said.

He walked quickly to the closet, pulling out a heavy dark coat.

“Arthur Whitmore knows we have the mechanic,” Julian said. “And he knows what is in this folder.”

“How?” I asked, standing up.

“He has eyes inside the precinct,” Julian said. “My investigator was followed.”

He grabbed the folder from the bed and slid it into an desk drawer, locking it with a small brass key.

“Whitmore is desperate,” Julian said. “If these documents reach the federal prosecutor, his career is over.”

He walked to the door and opened it, looking down the long, dim hallway.

“He isn’t going to wait for a trial,” Julian said.

“What is he going to do?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“He has the local police chief in his pocket,” Julian said. “They are sending a squad.”

He looked back at me, his eyes fierce.