Chapter 8: Warren Fitch
They arrested Decker — Warren Fitch — at five-twenty-three in the morning, on a gravel road outside a farmhouse in a county he had driven into believing he had all the leverage.
Cole watched from Rudy's porch.
He watched Fitch stand very still as Agent Okafor approached him.
He watched Fitch say something — Cole was too far away to hear the words, but he recognized the posture.
The slow, reasonable voice.
The man who always had a document, always had a lawyer, always had a way to reframe the situation so that he came out holding the cleaner end of it.
Okafor listened.
Then she held up one hand, and two agents moved in from either side.
Fitch looked at the agents.
He looked back at Okafor.
"You have nothing," he said.
Cole could read it on his lips more than hear it.
Okafor reached into her jacket and produced a photograph — one of Rennie's photographs from the blue folder.
She held it up so Fitch could see it clearly.
His face changed.
Not all at once.
It happened in stages, the way a wall comes down — first one crack, then another, then the whole structure shifting.
"That's not possible," he said.
Louder now.
Cole could hear it.
"She didn't have access to—"
"Mr.
Fitch." Okafor's voice was level and final.
"You have the right to remain silent."
He didn't remain silent.
He kept talking as they walked him to the federal vehicle — names, accusations, threats that dissolved in the cold morning air before they reached anyone who cared.
The van and the SUV were being approached by other agents.
The men inside were getting out with their hands up.
Cole stayed on the porch until it was over.
Then he went inside.
Lila was at the top of the stairs.
She had come out of the bedroom and was sitting on the top step with the blanket around her shoulders, looking down at him.
"Is it done?" she asked.
"It's done."
She let out a breath.
It was a very adult breath — the kind that carries more weight than it should for someone her age.
"Can we go see my mom now?" she said.
"Soon," Cole said.
"I need to talk to the agents first.
And then yes.
We go see your mom."
Agent Okafor came to the door forty minutes later.
She was a tall woman, direct in the way of someone who had learned that directness saved time.
She shook Cole's hand and looked around Rudy's kitchen.
"The folder is being processed," she said.
"The documents, the photographs, the records — all of it.
I've already been in contact with the U.S.
Attorney's office." She paused.
"The coerced agreement Fitch used on the child's mother is being flagged for immediate review.
Given the circumstances of how it was obtained, it won't survive the morning."
"What about Rennie?" Cole said.
"Rennie Marsh.
She's in a hospital.
She's been there three days."
"We'll have someone with her within the hour." Okafor looked at him steadily.
"Mr.—"
"Cole."
"Cole.
She's going to need protection while the case is built.
Fitch has associates who aren't in custody yet.
We're working on that.
But I want to be honest with you — this is going to take time.
Months, possibly longer, before it goes to trial."
"I understand."
"The child," Okafor said.
"What's her situation?"
"She's mine," Cole said.
"Biologically.
I didn't know until last night.
I'll get the documentation in order."
Okafor looked at him for a moment.
Not judging.
Just reading.
"Okay," she said.
"For now, she stays with you.
We'll need statements from both of you at some point — nothing that puts her in a room with lawyers today, just a recorded account when she's ready." She picked up her jacket.
"You did the right thing last night.
Calling us instead of handling it yourself."
Cole said nothing.
Okafor almost smiled.
"You thought about handling it yourself."
"I thought about a lot of things."
"But you called." She moved toward the door.
"That matters."
She left.
Cole stood in Rudy's kitchen while the morning came through the windows — pale and clean, the kind of light that arrives after a long night and doesn't apologize for being ordinary.
June put coffee on.
Lila came downstairs in the blanket, her hair loose around her face, the bracelet back on her wrist.
She sat at the table and looked at the coffee and then at Cole.
"I don't drink coffee," she said.
"I know."
"Do they have juice?"
June opened the refrigerator without being asked.
Cole sat down across from his daughter and wrapped both hands around his mug.
Outside, the last of the federal vehicles was pulling away down the gravel road.
The spot where Decker's truck had been was empty.
Just tire marks in the gravel and the ordinary quiet of a morning that had decided to be peaceful.
Lila drank her juice.
She looked at Cole over the rim of the glass.
"You're going to be weird about this for a while, aren't you," she said.
He looked at her.
"Probably," he said.
She nodded, like that was a reasonable answer.
"That's okay," she said.
"Mom was weird about stuff too.
I'm used to it."
Cole looked down at his coffee.
He didn't trust himself to say anything for a moment.
Then: "She's going to be okay, Lila.
Your mom.
I'm going to make sure of it."
Lila set her glass down.
She reached across the table and put her small hand over his, the way a child does when they are trying to comfort someone who is bigger than them and struggling anyway.
May you like
"I know," she said.
"She said you would."
