Then Dana pointed toward a handwritten notation beside Item C.
I leaned forward.
The note was faint.
Partially obscured by a crease.
But several words were readable.
Hold pending command review.
Beneath it was a signature.
Not a full signature.
An initial followed by a surname.
H. Mercer.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Dana whispered, "There he is."
I shook my head slightly.
"Not yet."
She looked toward me.
I pointed toward the screen.
"We have an image of a handwritten notation. We need to authenticate it, establish who made it, and determine whether Mercer authorized the transfer."
Dana nodded.
But we both understood the significance.
The deputy chief's name appeared beside the digital recording device that vanished from the official property trail.
The same deputy chief who had arrived at the raid.
The same man who allegedly warned Elena Brooks to stop challenging the police.
The same man who appeared at the precinct within ninety minutes of our arrival.
And the same man who insisted the missing ledger was probably an administrative misunderstanding.
I looked toward the image.
Then toward the incomplete lower portion.
There was still something we could not see.
The actual transfer recipient.
And the reason the device had been held for command review.
But now we had something the officers who removed the ledger apparently believed no longer existed.
A record of what the original page said.
And the evidence that the missing item was not merely an accounting error.
By late afternoon, the investigation had attracted attention far beyond the Fourteenth Precinct.
The city's police commissioner contacted our agency leadership.
The district attorney's office requested an update.
Several senior officials asked whether the inquiry would interfere with ongoing criminal cases.
Those concerns were legitimate.
If evidence handling was compromised, prosecutors needed to evaluate the cases affected.
Defendants and their attorneys could have rights to disclosure and review.
Property owners might be entitled to the return of seized items.
And innocent officers who handled evidence properly deserved a process that distinguished their work from misconduct.
But some calls had a different tone.
One official asked whether we could delay the evidence-room audit until after the city's annual public-safety announcement.
Another suggested we should avoid making the case "racial."
A third warned that investigating senior police officials might undermine public confidence.
I listened.
Then explained the same thing each time.
Public confidence did not depend on hiding misconduct.
It depended on responding honestly when credible evidence appeared.
Near sunset, Dana entered the temporary workspace we had established in a municipal building several blocks from the precinct.
She carried a folder.
Her expression was serious.
I looked up.
"We have the weekend access logs."
I set down my pen.
She opened the folder.