I looked up.
"A storage suite in Westbridge."
"What kind of files?"
He hesitated.
"Old project records. Contracts. Sometimes electronics."
My pulse quickened.
"Electronics?"
He nodded.
"Laptops. Drives. Security equipment."
I thought immediately of the missing recording device.
"Did you ever see a black security recorder from South Harbor Auto Exchange?"
The man frowned.
"I don't know."
He considered.
"But there was a box with a police property label."
I felt the room become very quiet.
He looked directly at me.
"Westbridge storage. Back office. Locked cabinet."
I exchanged a glance with Dana.
Then made another note.
The original recording device might still exist.
And if it did, it might contain footage that no one had managed to erase.
The next major development involved Officer Lena Ortiz.
She requested a meeting away from the Fourteenth Precinct.
When she arrived, she was wearing ordinary clothes.
A navy sweater.
Dark jeans.
Flat shoes.
Without her uniform, she looked younger.
She sat across from me, carefully placing her phone on the table.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she spoke.
"They've been asking about me."
I leaned forward.
"Sergeant Keller."
"What did he say?"
She swallowed.
"He wanted to know why I told you my body camera was recording."
"How did you respond?"
"I told him because it was."
She looked down.
"He said I should've let the supervisors handle it."
I studied her.
"Did he threaten you?"
She hesitated.
"Not directly."
"Tell me exactly what happened."
Ortiz took a breath.
"He said new officers sometimes make mistakes that follow them for the rest of their careers."
I made a note.
She continued.
"He said I should remember who writes my evaluations."
I looked toward her.
"And who does?"
"Sergeant Keller."
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Ortiz added something unexpected.
"Officer Rourke came to see me too."
I looked up.
"Yesterday."
"What did he want?"
She swallowed.
"He asked whether the recording captured him pouring the coffee."
"He wanted to know if I could say the camera was pointed at the floor."
I leaned forward.
"Did he ask you to lie?"
She nodded slowly.
I made another note.
Ortiz looked toward the window.
Then whispered, "He said I was ruining his life over a joke."
I studied her.
"What did you tell him?"
She looked down.
"I told him he should've thought about that before he poured the coffee."
For a moment, I almost smiled.
Then I nodded.
But Ortiz did not smile.
She looked frightened.
"Investigator, I've wanted to be a police officer since I was sixteen."
I listened.
She continued.
"My father worked maintenance at the courthouse. He used to take me to community events where officers helped kids with school supplies."