A Police Officer Held Up a Bag He Said Came From Her Car — Then She Asked Him to Read the Evidence Number

A Police Officer Held Up a Bag He Said Came From Her Car — Then She Asked Him to Read the Evidence Number

Chapter 11

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Karen Lowell whispered, “Well.”

Mara did not feel victorious.

She thought about Henry.

How different would his life have been if a camera had existed eighteen years ago?

How different would hers?

Creel was arrested that afternoon.

He asked for a lawyer immediately.

Sheriff Baines held a press conference before investigators could stop him.

He described Creel as “a single employee whose apparent misconduct does not reflect the values of Monroe County law enforcement.”

Mara watched from her mother’s living room.

Joyce muted the television.

“He always was good at surviving.”

Mara looked at her.

They had barely spoken since Mara arrived.

Joyce was seventy now.

Her hair had gone almost completely white.

She still lived in the same brick house where Mara grew up.

Henry’s chair remained beside the living-room window.

Mara had avoided looking at it.

“You knew Baines was involved?”

Joyce folded her arms.

“I knew your father believed it.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“No.”

“What did Dad actually tell you?”

“More than he told you.”

The sentence stung.

Mara deserved it.

Still, it stung.

Joyce stood and walked toward a cabinet.

She removed a thick manila folder.

Mara stared.

“What is that?”

“Your father’s.”

“You had records?”

“Yes.”

“For eighteen years?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you give them to me?”

Joyce turned.

“Would you have believed them?”

Mara opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Joyce continued.

“After Henry died, I asked you once if you wanted his papers.”

Mara remembered.

Vaguely.

Three days after the funeral.

She had said no.

She thought Joyce meant tax records.

Bills.

Old work files.

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Mara looked down.

“No.”

Joyce placed the folder in front of her.

“Neither did I.”

“What?”

“I could have told you what they were.”

Mara looked up.

Joyce’s expression softened for the first time.

“I was angry.”

“You had a right to be.”

“I had a right to be angry. I did not have a right to make understanding harder.”

Mara swallowed.

They sat together.

Inside the folder were handwritten notes.

Photocopies.

Old shift rosters.

Evidence numbers.

Henry’s handwriting everywhere.

Dates.

Arrows.

Questions.

One page contained three names.

T. BAINES

M. CREEL

D. HARPER

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A Police Officer Held Up a Bag He Said Came From Her Car — Then She Asked Him to Read the Evidence Number

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