“The dashcam?” James asked.
“Vance’s department claims the cruiser’s camera had an electrical malfunction,” Caleb answered, his voice frighteningly calm. “The gas station owner handed the security footage over to Vance’s deputies thirty minutes after the shooting. An hour later, the station had a ‘grease fire’ in the back room that destroyed the digital video recorder.”
Miller spat onto the concrete floor. “Local prosecutor?”
“In Vance’s pocket. They’re filing charges against Ethan for felony assault on a peace officer from his hospital bed.” Caleb raised his eyes, cold as arctic ice. “The legal system here isn’t broken, boys. It’s working exactly the way Vance designed it. So we aren’t going to use the legal system.”
Jackson took a ruggedized military laptop from his canvas bag and placed it on a wooden crate. “We pulled the county law enforcement network overnight. Sheriff Vance Vance isn’t just a dirty cop. He runs the local narcotics pipeline coming off Interstate 70. His deputies act as enforcers. He’s got three dummy accounts in the Cayman Islands holding just over four million dollars.”
