Chapter 5: What Cross Knew
The debrief was at seven the next morning.
Webb's office had floor-to-ceiling windows that faced east, and in the early morning the light came through flat and bright and made everything look more serious than it already was.
Webb sat behind his desk.
Callahan was on my left.
A woman I hadn't met before — introduced as Internal Affairs Liaison Sergeant Dora Huang from the Fulton County Sheriff's Department — sat to my right with a closed folder in front of her.
Webb opened with: "Mercer gave his statement last night."
"And?"
"He claims the stop was lawful, the sledgehammer was used to access a concealed compartment he believed existed in the vehicle, and that he did not see your credentials until after the windshield had been compromised."
I let a beat pass.
"He told you the VIN check cleared before the first swing."
"He says the radio confirmation came after."
"My transmission audio will show otherwise."
"It does," Webb said.
"We've already pulled the transcript." He slid a single page across the desk.
"Radio dispatch confirmed VIN clear at 2:14 p.m.
The first impact, based on the onboard camera timestamp, occurred at 2:16 p.m."
Two minutes.
He had a clean VIN confirmation in his hand and swung two minutes later.
Huang cleared her throat.
"Sergeant Mercer has been with Fulton County for nineteen years.
His union representative is suggesting the body camera malfunction was a known equipment issue reported three weeks ago."
"Was it reported?" Callahan asked.
Huang opened her folder.
"There's a maintenance log entry.
Dated eighteen days ago.
The camera was flagged for a firmware update."
"Was the update applied?"
A pause.
"No."
"So the camera had a known issue that was never repaired," Callahan said, "and Mercer chose to operate with it anyway."
"That's one interpretation," Huang said carefully.
"What's another?"
Huang didn't answer.
Webb turned to me.
"The reporter.
Marcus Tully.
Tell me exactly what he said."
I went through it word by word.
Webb listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he picked up his pen and held it without writing anything.
"He said he'd rather not say how he got your number," Webb repeated.
"Yes."
"Your direct line is not public."
"No."
"It's on internal rosters.
Field office.
Partner agencies.
And—" he looked at the page in front of him— "Fulton County Sheriff's Department, as part of the joint task force contact list from last spring."
The room went quiet.
Huang was very still.
"I'm not suggesting anything," Webb said.
"I'm noting a fact."
"Noted," Huang said, in a tone that meant she understood exactly what was being suggested.
There was a knock at the office door.
Webb's assistant opened it six inches.
"Agent Callahan?
Deputy Cross is here.
He said you asked him to come in this morning."
Callahan looked at Webb.
He nodded.
"Send him to conference room B," she said.
"I'll be there in two minutes." She stood and looked at me.
"You should hear this."
Cross was already seated when we came in.
He was in civilian clothes — dark jeans, a gray pullover — and he looked like a man who hadn't slept.
There was a cup of coffee in front of him that he hadn't touched.
Callahan sat across from him.
I took the chair to her left.
"Deputy Cross," Callahan said.
"Thank you for coming in voluntarily."
"I wanted to," he said.
And then, almost immediately: "I need to tell you something that I didn't include in my statement last night."
Callahan set her notebook on the table.
"Go ahead."
Cross looked at his coffee.
"The stop wasn't random."
The room didn't change.
Callahan's expression didn't change.
But I felt the air shift slightly, the way it does when something that was suspected becomes something confirmed.
"Explain that," Callahan said.
"Wade got a call about twenty minutes before we pulled her over." Cross nodded toward me.
"He didn't tell me who it was.
But after the call, he started running plates on vehicles matching the Bugatti's description.
Black Bugatti, partial plate match.
When we came up behind her on Peachtree, he already had the description on his phone."
"Someone called him with the car's description," Callahan said.
"Yes."
"Did you hear any part of the call?"
Cross hesitated.
Then: "One thing.
At the end of the call, right before Wade hung up — I heard him say, 'Make sure the story is ready.'"
Callahan wrote that down.
I looked at Cross.
"You're sure of those words."
"I've been hearing them in my head since yesterday afternoon," he said.
"Yeah.
I'm sure."
Make sure the story is ready.
Someone had not only directed Mercer to target my car.
Someone had been waiting for a story to publish.
The reporter had called me within the first hour.
With my direct number.
With footage already in hand from multiple witnesses.
I thought about the nineteen phones in that parking lot.
Any one of them could have sent footage to a news outlet within minutes.
But my direct number.
That was different.
That came from someone who knew who I was before the stop ever happened.
Cross wrapped both hands around his coffee cup.
"There's one more thing."
Callahan looked up.
"Wade made a second call right after the first swing," Cross said.
"While you were still standing next to the car.
He stepped away and made a call that lasted about forty seconds.
I didn't hear what he said." He paused.
"But I saw who he called.
The name came up on his screen when he unlocked his phone."
"What name?" Callahan asked.
Cross said the name.
Callahan's pen stopped moving.
She looked at me.
I looked at her.
Then she closed her notebook and stood up.
"Deputy Cross, I'm going to ask you to remain available for a formal recorded interview this afternoon.
Don't discuss this conversation with anyone." She looked at him steadily.
"Anyone.
Including Sergeant Mercer."
Cross nodded.
"I understand."
We walked back to Webb's office.
Callahan knocked once and pushed the door open without waiting.
Webb looked up.
May you like
Callahan set her closed notebook on his desk.
"We have a problem that's larger than Mercer."
