Dana understood.
She had worked beside me for six years.
She knew I did not make accusations lightly.
"All right," she said. "I'll follow the records."
I ended the call.
Then turned toward the property room.
Evelyn Price was watching me.
Her expression was anxious.
I approached.
"Ms. Price?"
She straightened.
"Could we speak privately?"
She glanced toward the command office.
Then back at me.
For a moment, she hesitated.
Finally, she nodded.
"There's something I should have told you earlier."
Evelyn had worked in evidence control long enough to recognize the difference between a mistake and a pattern.
She knew how easily a receipt could be placed in the wrong folder.
How an officer working a long shift might forget to initial a transfer.
How an evidence technician could enter the wrong time into a computerized system.
Those things happened.
They required correction.
But the corrections were supposed to create a clearer record, not erase what happened.
During the previous eighteen months, Evelyn had noticed something troubling.
Whenever certain cases involved large amounts of seized cash, the original property totals sometimes changed after command staff became involved.
The first time, she assumed someone had entered an estimate.
The second time, she requested a recount.
The third time, she began keeping separate notes.
She was not supposed to conduct her own investigation.
She knew that.
She also understood that documenting a discrepancy was part of her job.
So she recorded dates, case numbers, and the names of employees who handled transfers.
When she reported the issues to Sergeant Keller, he told her to stop questioning sworn officers.
"You're a civilian employee," he said. "Your job is to store evidence, not investigate police work."
She reminded him that property control required accurate documentation.
He laughed.
"Then document what you're told."
Evelyn did not laugh.
She had raised two children while working in that building.
Had attended countless evidence-training sessions.
Had testified in court about chain-of-custody records.
And had spent almost thirty years believing that honest paperwork mattered because people's freedom could depend upon it.
She was not about to pretend an evidence bag contained eighteen thousand dollars when the original receipt said more than two hundred thousand.
But she also had a mortgage.
A retirement date approaching.
And a daughter with medical expenses Evelyn helped pay.
Losing her job would hurt.
She knew that too.
So she began saving her concerns through the official reporting channels.
Most went unanswered.
A few returned with instructions not to pursue the matter further.
Then came the South Harbor Auto Exchange case.
She remembered the evidence package because it was unusually heavy.
Not physically heavy.
Administratively heavy.
The paperwork arrived late.
The currency amount was substantial.