The officers that were on third shift started filtering in, swapping out with the first shift. I logged in to the computer and put my headset on, positioned behind my ear where it was more comfortable, unless I was taking a call. The coffee in the breakroom looked old and filmy, so I dumped it down the drain and rinsed the carafe before starting a new pot. I put my lunchbox in the community fridge, taking a few minutes to throw out some of the old things that people left behind.
“Morning, Scarlett.”
I turned to the new voice with a fake smile. Matt was waiting in the doorway, his eye no longer swollen from the fight, but the bruises hadn’t yet faded.
“Good morning.” He just stood in the doorway, not moving into the breakroom. I could feel his eyes on me as I turned back to my task of cleaning out the refrigerator. After dumping a couple of yogurts, two containers of God-knows-what that had been sitting in Tupperware for weeks, and the empty container of butter spread that someone had put back with less than a scrap left inside, I turned back to Matt. “Do you need something?”
“Just waiting to get to the fridge,” he said, holding up his lunch in one of Luke’s to-go containers. Well, not Luke’s anymore, but the fancy glass storage bowl with a blue lid was unique enough that I knew where it came from. “No rush. You can finish doing what you’re doing.”
“Oh, no. It’s fine. I was done anyway.” I moved aside to let him in, offering him a quick smile. The coffee was done brewing, but all I wanted to do was get away from Matt’s scrutiny. It wasn’t that he was leering, but his gaze held an intensity that I didn’t like.
I left the breakroom and Matt behind. The first call of the day came in just as I was getting back to my desk.
“Calla Bay Police, what’s your emergency?” I answered.
The woman on the phone sounded old. She had left her windows open last night and managed to attract a raccoon that was refusing to leave politely.
I sent the message out on the radio for one of the officers to go by there and see what they could do. Officer Neves was the closest, so he was tasked with the impromptu animal control visit. My day continued much in the same vein for hours. It was a weirdly busy day for the police. Nothing too serious, but it seemed like everyone was in need of help or reporting suspicious activity all day. By early afternoon, I had taken my third call to report a car parked on a street that a neighbor didn’t recognize.
“Hart,” Chief Williams called from his office doorway.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you have a minute to go to the records room?” he asked. “There’s a court memo in an old case file that I need.” I jumped at the opportunity. The Karrigan case file wasn’t in the records room with the closed cases, but there must be something that I could find while I was down there.
The stairs that led to the lower level were carpeted with what, at one time, was probably supposed to be a shag carpet but was now a matted-down muddy green color. A keypad entry lock was installed as the only concession to modern times. I was pretty sure they had locked themselves out of the room one too many times, and that was the only reason for the switch in security. Dust swirled in the air from the draft created when I opened the door. I found the case file and document that Chief needed quickly and turned to leave.
The evidence lockers caught my eye. Two neat rows of steel lockboxes lined the two long walls, and at the end of the room was a paperwork station. Various blank forms were arranged in file organizers, ready to be completed as new evidence was logged and stored. Evidence logs were hanging from clipboards. The locker number, description of the evidence, location where the evidence was found, case number, date, time, and officer’s name were recorded anytime evidence was taken into custody or removed from custody for any reason.
I glanced around, listening intently for any voices coming down the stairs. I had a few minutes before Chief would get suspicious. A lot of officers had a hard time finding things in the records room, so he wouldn’t expect me back immediately. I scurried to the end of the room where the logs were hung. Luckily, I had taken my phone with me. I did a quick sweep for the names Karrigan or Redmond. I didn’t have much time though, and I didn’t want to accidentally miss anything, soI started snapping pictures of each page, keeping them in order so I could put everything back exactly the way I found it. Most items were entered into and taken out of custody quickly. Often, it was the items someone had on them when they were arrested. If no charges were filed, they got the items back upon release. Still, I didn’t want to make any assumptions. I continued to take pictures of each page, going back several months. Matt’s name was listed multiple times, as was Luke’s and every other officer’s.
As I moved into the active investigation timeframe for the Karrigan case, I found myself slowing down to review the documents. I could see every time Luke entered evidence, but not once did he ever remove it. Matt, on the other hand, had removed evidence twice.
I flipped the sheets over again, looking for when that evidence was returned into custody. But I couldn’t find it. Either it wasn’t logged—which would be a major issue and potentially catastrophic to their case—or the evidence was gone.
“What are you doing?”
I spun around. My stomach dropped, and my heart beat erratically. Matt stood in the doorway, just like he had this morning in the breakroom. He had a clear plastic bag in his hand, items that he was probably entering into evidence. His eyes narrowed, and a calculating look crossed his face before he schooled his features. He lifted a brow, waiting on my answer, and leaned against the doorframe. He didn’t say anything, but his message was clear. He wasn’t moving until I explained myself.
I tapped the papers back into an orderly stack and reattached them to the clipboard. What was I supposed to say? Ihad no reason to be in here. No good reason anyway.
“I needed to get a document for Chief,” I told him.
“In the evidence lockers?” he asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.
Thinking on my feet, I came up with a lie and just hoped that he wouldn’t go through the audio recordings of the calls to find out.
“I got a call from someone that said we lost their watch and didn’t return it with their items, so while I was down here, I thought I would check to see if we ever logged a watch.”
He didn’t take his eyes off me. “Who called?”
I forced myself not to gulp and show my nerves. I wasn’t a very good liar, never had been. I said the first name that came to mind. “Rusty Burgess.”
Rusty was the town drunk. He had been arrested more times than anyone else. It would be completely plausible for Rusty to blame the police for losing his watch or for claiming he owned a watch just to get a check for the value of the lost good. That was, if he wasn’t currently in jail for endangering a room full of people by pulling a gun on a bartender.
A look of disbelief crossed his face. I almost thought he wanted to roll his eyes at my poor excuse, but he refrained.
“Excuse me,” I said as I went to move past him. For a second, I thought he wasn’t going to move. I glanced to the stairway. If I screamed, there were plenty of people who would hear me.
