Chapter 5: Roy Sattler
Roy Sattler was not what I expected.
He was in his late sixties, heavyset, with a grey beard trimmed close and reading glasses pushed up on his forehead.
He drove a plain silver sedan and he carried a battered leather notebook.
He looked less like a detective and more like a retired high school principal.
But when I put Jeremy's USB drive on the table in front of him and he opened the files, something in his face went very still and focused.
He watched the video twice without speaking.
He read Jeremy's notes from beginning to end.
He studied each photograph.
Then he looked up.
"How old was your son?"
"Sixteen."
He was quiet for a moment.
"He documented this well.
Better than most adults would."
"He was careful," I said.
"He was always careful."
Roy tapped the photograph — the two men outside the Hartley Road building.
"The second man.
You don't know him?"
"No."
"I do." He turned the photograph toward me.
"His name is Dennis Pryor.
He ran a logistics company out of the county for about eight years.
Officially.
The company dissolved two years ago under circumstances that were never fully explained.
There were rumors — nothing proven — about the warehouses being used for moving stolen goods.
High-value items.
Electronics, mostly."
"And Caleb's father?"
"What's the father's name?"
"I only know the last name.
Mercer."
Roy wrote it down.
"First name?"
"I don't know.
Jeremy only ever called him Caleb's dad."
"That's enough to start." He closed his notebook.
"The text message you received last night — do you still have it?"
I showed him my phone.
He photographed the screen.
"Whoever sent that knows you found the phone," he said.
"Which means either Caleb told them, or they've been watching the house."
The room went cold.
"Watching the house," Dana repeated.
"It's possible.
Not certain.
But possible." Roy looked at me steadily.
"Mrs.
Hartley, I want to be direct with you.
If Dennis Pryor is involved and if what your son documented is what I think it is, this is not a matter for a private investigator alone.
This needs to go to law enforcement.
The right law enforcement — not the local precinct.
I have a contact at the state level.
Someone I trust."
"I tried to think about going to the police last night," I said.
"My sister said I didn't have enough."
"You have enough now." He gestured at the drive.
"A minor child was used to conduct surveillance on a crjminal operation.
That same child d*ed in a road accident four days after documenting that he was afraid and that people connected to the operation knew he had copies of the evidence." He paused.
"That is enough."
I felt something shift in my chest.
Not relief — it was too early for relief.
But something solid forming where there had only been fog.
"What do I do?" I said.
"You give me forty-eight hours," Roy said.
"I'll run Mercer's full name and background, pull what I can on Pryor, and make contact with my state connection.
In the meantime, you do not call Caleb again.
You do not respond to unknown numbers.
And if anyone comes to your door — anyone — you call me first."
He slid a card across the table.
His number was handwritten on the back.
"One more thing," he said.
He looked at me directly.
"Your son left this for you deliberately.
He trusted you to do something with it.
Whatever happens next — you are not doing anything wrong by following through."
I picked up the card.
Outside, a car slowed as it passed the house.
It didn't stop.
But it slowed.
Roy noticed it too.
May you like
He stood up and moved to the window, just slightly to the side of it, and watched until the car turned the corner.
"Forty-eight hours," he said again, without turning around.
