“I’ll inventory her property.”
The two men stared at each other.
Helen saw something change in Adam.
Small.
But real.
Pike stepped back.
“Fine.”
Adam opened the opposite door.
“Ma’am, your phone.”
Helen allowed him to take it.
He placed it in a clear property pouch.
“Wallet?”
She handed it over.
Pike said, “Transport her.”
Adam nodded.
Pike turned toward Helen’s sedan.
Adam watched.
“Where are you going?”
“To secure the vehicle.”
“Tow can do it.”
Pike looked at him.
“I said transport her.”
Adam’s face tightened.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
He shut Helen’s door.
As he walked around the cruiser, Helen saw him look once more at the evidence bag resting inside another plastic container on the hood.
Blue seal.
D.R.
His father’s initials.
The station looked smaller than Helen remembered.
She had visited dozens of times when Thomas worked there.
Christmas parties.
Retirement dinners.
One memorable afternoon when eight-year-old Evan became stuck beneath a conference table after insisting he could crawl through the support frame.
Thomas had taken twenty minutes to free him.
Daniel Rourke laughed until he cried.
Helen remembered Daniel then.
Before everything.
He had once been Thomas’s friend.
That was perhaps the ugliest part.
Corruption rarely began with strangers.
At 12:14 a.m., Adam placed Helen in an interview room.
No one formally questioned her.
She asked for counsel.
He nodded.
Then left.
Ten minutes passed.
Twenty.
At 12:41, Helen heard voices outside.
Pike.
Another man.
Then Adam.
“Sergeant, the item number comes back archived.”
Silence.
Pike answered too quietly for Helen to hear.
Adam spoke again.
“It says destroyed.”
Helen closed her eyes.
There it was.
Confirmation.
A minute later the door opened.
Adam entered alone.
His face had changed.
“Mrs. Ward.”
“Helen.”
He ignored the correction.
“Who are you meeting tonight?”
She smiled faintly.
“You know enough to ask that now?”
“I’m asking.”
“And I asked for an attorney.”
“You did.”
“Then we’re done.”
Adam glanced toward the camera in the corner.
Then lowered his voice.
“My father’s initials are on that bag.”
Helen looked at him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You should ask him.”
“He’s seventy-one.”
“Old people can answer questions.”
Adam’s jaw tightened.
“What happened in your son’s case?”
“You read enough.”