I studied her.
"Ms. Price, when did you last see the ledger?"
She turned toward me.
"Friday afternoon."
"Where?"
"Locked property archive cabinet. Shelf three. Storage box F-fourteen."
I made a note.
"Was the cabinet secured?"
"Yes."
"Who had access?"
She hesitated.
Whitaker interrupted.
"Several authorized personnel."
I looked toward him.
"Thank you. I'd like Ms. Price to answer."
The lieutenant stopped.
Evelyn adjusted her glasses.
"Property technicians. The property supervisor. Certain command staff with authorized access."
I nodded.
"Are entries made when somebody removes a ledger?"
"They're supposed to be."
"Was there an entry?"
She shook her head.
"No."
I looked at the empty container.
"Then the book disappeared after Friday afternoon without a documented release."
Evelyn nodded.
"Yes."
Whitaker exhaled sharply.
"Could've been misplaced."
I looked toward him.
"Possibly."
He seemed relieved.
Then I continued.
"That's why we'll preserve access records, inventory logs, and relevant surveillance footage before drawing conclusions."
His expression changed again.
Evelyn remained still.
I turned toward her.
"One more question."
"Yes?"
"Did you notice anything unusual about that ledger before it disappeared?"
She hesitated.
For a moment, I thought she would say no.
Then she looked toward Whitaker.
The lieutenant stared at her.
Evelyn's fingers tightened around the empty container.
Finally, she answered.
"The binding was damaged."
I nodded.
"Where?"
"Around page 187."
"What kind of damage?"
She swallowed.
"The page wasn't torn out by accident."
Whitaker stepped forward.
"Evelyn—"
I raised one hand.
"Let her finish."
The lieutenant stopped.
Evelyn looked toward me.
Her voice became quieter.
"Somebody used a blade."
The room fell silent.
She continued.
"The edge was too straight. And there was damage to the thread holding the signatures together."
I made another note.
"When did you notice?"
"Three weeks ago."
"Did you report it?"
She looked down.
"Yes."
"To whom?"
A long pause followed.
Then she whispered, "Sergeant Keller."
I looked toward Whitaker.
He had gone very still.
Evelyn continued.
"He told me the issue had already been handled."
I nodded slowly.
"Did he put that in writing?"
She shook her head.
"No."
I looked toward the empty box.
Then back at her.
"Thank you, Ms. Price."
Whitaker exhaled.
"Well, we'll locate the ledger."
I stood.
"Yes."
Then opened my briefcase.
Removed my telephone.
And called the state investigative team waiting nearby.
The moment the call connected, I spoke clearly.
"The primary physical ledger is missing. Expand the authorized preservation procedures to the identified archive access records and related evidence, consistent with the warrant. We need the records-room entry logs secured now."
Whitaker's face tightened.
He looked toward the office door.
Then toward me.
"Is all that really necessary?"
I met his eyes.
"Lieutenant, the record we came to examine disappeared before we arrived."
He said nothing.
I continued.
"That's exactly when preservation becomes necessary."
And at that moment, my investigation stopped being a routine evidence-accounting review.
Because someone inside the Fourteenth Precinct had apparently learned that the state was coming.
Someone had removed the ledger.
And someone had decided that page 187 was too dangerous to leave behind.
The only question was why.
The first person who tried to stop us was not Sergeant Keller.
It was Deputy Chief Harold Mercer.
He arrived at the Fourteenth Precinct at 11:42 that morning, less than ninety minutes after I had been humiliated in the breakroom and barely half an hour after Evelyn Price reported the missing evidence ledger.
I was standing beside the property-room entrance when he appeared.
Mercer was fifty-eight years old, tall, silver-haired, and immaculately dressed in a dark police command uniform. He had the posture of a man accustomed to entering rooms where everyone immediately stopped talking.
Two uniformed officers accompanied him.
Neither spoke.
Mercer looked at me, then at the state investigators working with the property-room staff.
His expression hardened.
"Investigator Vance."
I turned.
"Deputy Chief."
He approached slowly.
"I understand there's been an incident."
I glanced toward the coffee stains drying across my shirt.
"Several."
His eyes followed mine.
For a moment, he seemed almost annoyed.
"Officer Rourke's behavior was unacceptable. I'll make sure it's handled."
"Thank you."
Mercer nodded.
Then looked toward the property room.
"But I'm told your people are disrupting our operations."
I studied him.
"We're preserving records relevant to an authorized investigation."
He folded his arms.
"Without coordinating with my office."
"The authorization was served through the appropriate channels."
He smiled faintly.
"That's not what I asked."
I waited.
Mercer stepped closer.
"These officers have jobs to do. We have active investigations, court appearances, and evidence that needs processing. You can't simply walk into a precinct and shut everything down."
I looked toward the corridor.
Several officers were continuing their normal duties.
The public service counter remained open.
Emergency calls were being answered.
No one had been ordered to stop legitimate police work.
"We've restricted only the areas and records necessary to preserve evidence," I answered.
Mercer's smile disappeared.
"You're taking an aggressive approach to something that may be a clerical misunderstanding."
I held his gaze.
"Then the records should help establish that."
For several seconds, he stared at me.
Then he lowered his voice.
"You understand what happens when investigators start treating an entire police station like a crime scene?"
I considered.
"Usually, the officers who maintained accurate records have very little to worry about."
His jaw tightened.
I continued.
"But the disappearance of a ledger immediately before an evidence audit is something we have to examine."
Mercer looked toward the property-room door.
For the first time, I noticed genuine concern beneath his carefully controlled expression.
He turned back.
"That ledger was archived months ago."
"Yes."
"It's old."
"Yes."
"It may have been moved."
"That's what we're determining."
He exhaled sharply.
Then smiled again.
"You seem determined to find a scandal, Investigator."
I shook my head.
"I'm determined to find the facts."
His eyes narrowed.
"And if those facts don't support your suspicions?"
"Then our report will say so."
For several moments, neither of us moved.
Finally, Mercer stepped backward.
"Keep me informed."
I nodded.
"Through the established investigative channels."
His smile tightened.
He turned toward Lieutenant Whitaker, who had been standing silently near the hallway.
"Lieutenant. A word."
Whitaker followed him toward the command office.
I watched them go.
Then reached for my phone.
My investigative partner, Special Agent Dana Hill, answered immediately.