I pulled it out and flipped the latches.

Inside lay a digital voice recorder and a stack of financial documents.

“Looking for this?” a voice asked from the doorway.

I spun around, keeping my flashlight low.

Sheriff Thomas Wade stood in the entrance, his yellow raincoat dripping onto the floor.

He held his service revolver pointed directly at my chest.

His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot and desperate.

“Give me the box, Daniel,” Wade said.

“You don’t want to do this, Sheriff,” I said, keeping my hand near my holster.

“It’s already over.”

“Caleb is in custody.”

“He’s talking to the state police right now.”

Wade’s hand trembled slightly, but the gun remained steady.

“Caleb is a weak coward,” Wade spat.

“He doesn’t have the stomach for what has to be done.”

“I’ve spent twenty years protecting this family.”

“I’m not going to prison because of some dead girl’s diary.”

“She wasn’t just some girl,” I said, my voice hardening.

“She was my wife.”

“And she was Leo’s mother.”

Wade stepped forward, the wood groaning under his weight.

“The box, Daniel,” he repeated.

“Now.”