"And what about the Shady Pines paperwork?" I scrolled to the second photograph, zooming in on the clipboard Vance had held against his chest. "Arthur forged my signature in green ink. Look at the date. Look at the commercial parcel deed pinned directly underneath it. He didn't board up that house because of a water pipe, Miller. He boarded it up because he's combining my rental lot with the industrial yard behind it to sell to the logistics developer."
Miller's eyes fixed on the photograph, specifically on the bright green strokes of my name scrawled across the intake authorization. He stared at it for five seconds. Then he tapped his pen against the dispatch log.
"Vance sits on the municipal planning board, Martin," Miller whispered, his eyes darting toward the counter. "He signed off on the department equipment budget two weeks ago. I can't overturn an active county condemn tag based on phone pictures. If I let you force your way inside, Arthur will press felony burglary charges, and my sergeant will back him."
"So you're telling me to sit on the curb and let my lungs fill with fluid?"
"I'm telling you to let me drive you to the county shelter in Oak Creek for the night," Miller said, his tone softening with an uncomfortable pity that felt worse than Vance's contempt. "They have an on-call nurse. You can sort the paperwork out with the housing magistrate on Monday morning."
"The shelter doesn't have an automated peritoneal cycler calibrated to my catheter," I said coldly. "And Monday morning is seventy-two hours away."
I grabbed the carton off the chair, tucked my phone away, and turned toward the door. Begging an officer whose department relied on Vance's committee votes was useless. If I wanted to survive the night, I had to stop asking for permission and find the building inspector who signed that fraudulent tag before the courthouse closed at five o'clock.
CHAPTER 2 CONTINUED
I shut off the Buick’s engine. Through the annex’s tall plate-glass windows, the ground-floor hallway was still lit by harsh fluorescent strips, but the blinds in the code enforcement division were already halfway drawn. According to the condemnation notice Arthur had slapped over my front door, Senior Field Inspector Ray Caldwell had evaluated my rental cottage at eight-thirty that morning and declared the foundation structurally compromised.
I pulled my jacket collar high against the downpour and ran for the side entrance. The heavy brass door gave way with an automated click. Inside, the linoleum smelled of damp coats and lemon wax. At the end of the corridor, behind a counter topped with frosted safety glass, a man in a khaki county uniform was packing a leather briefcase. His laminated badge swung over a silver belt buckle: R. Caldwell, Senior Inspector.
"Counter's closed for the weekend," Caldwell said without looking up from his latches. "Public inquiries open at eight Monday."
"I don't need a public inquiry, Mr. Caldwell," I said, walking straight to the partition. "I need you to tell me why you condemned 418 Elm Street this morning without stepping foot on the property."
Caldwell’s fingers froze on the brass lock of his briefcase. He looked up, his jaw tightening as he took in my soaked jacket, the dark circles under my eyes, and the phone I held flat in my palm.
"I don't discuss active citations after hours," he said, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair. "File an appeal with the county clerk."
"You logged the inspection at eight-thirty," I said, tapping the phone screen to display the condemnation tag’s timestamp. "At eight-thirty, I was sitting on my front porch waiting for a delivery of dialysate solution. Nobody walked my yard. Nobody inspected the piers. You signed off on an emergency evacuation tag that allowed Arthur Vance to padlock my front door and lock up twelve thousand dollars' worth of prescription medical supplies."
"Look, Mr. Finch," Caldwell said, his voice dropping into a rehearsed bureaucratic drone. "The owner submitted structural engineering reports detailing severe dry rot and soil subsidence under the foundation sill. Under Section 14-B of the municipal code, if an immediate collapse hazard is certified by a licensed structural contractor, the field inspector can issue a tag based on verified documentation without an invasive subfloor entry."
"And who was the licensed contractor who certified that report?" I asked.
Caldwell grabbed his coat and swung it over his shoulders. "That’s county record. You can pull the public file Monday."
"Arthur Vance signed that report himself, didn't he?" I stepped closer to the frosted divider, pressing my palm against the glass. "He signed it under his commercial demolition license. And you stamped it without verifying a single pier, because Vance pushed through your department's overtime budget last month."
Caldwell’s face flushed a mottled crimson. "You make another accusation like that in this building and I’ll have county deputies remove you in cuffs."