The property seals carried two sets of initials.
And the receiving officer appeared nervous.
The original paperwork listed two sealed currency packages and one separate pouch containing digital evidence.
By the time the items reached the central property record, only one currency package remained.
The second package was no longer reflected as a separate item.
Neither was the digital pouch.
Evelyn questioned the discrepancy.
Sergeant Keller told her the count had been corrected.
When she asked where the second bag went, he said it had been consolidated.
When she asked for the consolidation form, he told her to stop wasting time.
She made a note.
Three weeks later, she discovered that page 187 had been removed from the bound transfer ledger.
She recognized the page number immediately.
It covered the South Harbor evidence intake.
She reported the damage.
Keller told her the matter was closed.
Then she noticed something else.
A transfer record had been entered into the digital system under a supervisor's credentials.
The record did not explain the missing property.
Instead, it stated that a certain item had been transferred for "command review."
There was no return date.
No location.
No receiving signature.
And the property-control number did not appear in the final case inventory.
Evelyn told me all of this in a small interview room near the precinct's rear entrance.
She sat across from me, hands folded in her lap.
Her expression remained controlled.
But I could see how frightened she was.
"Ms. Price, did you keep a copy of the original transfer record?"
She hesitated.
"Not the whole page."
"What did you preserve?"
She looked toward the door.
Then whispered, "Something better than nothing."
She took a breath.
"Before we moved the old ledgers into archive storage, we scanned selected pages for the annual inventory reconciliation."
I leaned forward.
"Was page 187 included?"
She shook her head.
"Not in the final packet."
I felt a moment of disappointment.
Then she continued.
"But it was on the scanner."
I looked up.
She met my eyes.
"The technician was supposed to scan pages 180 through 190. The job failed near the end, and the final archive packet was generated from a second scan."
I considered.
"Was the first scan retained?"
"I don't know."
She swallowed.
"But the scanner sometimes stores failed jobs temporarily."
I stared at her.
That was important.
Not because a temporary file would automatically be usable as evidence.
Its integrity and origin would need verification.
But if an earlier image of page 187 existed, it might show what someone later removed.
"Which scanner?"
She told me.
It stood in a records-processing room on the lower floor.
I reached for my phone.
Called Dana.
Then explained what Evelyn had discovered.