“I don't know.”
The original handwritten field notes were gone.
Only the typed report remained.
Kessler’s supplemental report had been based partly on a conversation with the primary investigating officer, Martin Hale, who retired two years after the accident and now lived in Nevada.
Rebecca contacted him.
Hale agreed to an interview.
He remembered little.
That frustrated Daniel.
“How do you forget a seventeen-year-old dying?”
Rebecca asked him not to attend the first interview.
Wise.
Hale remembered the missing railing.
That mattered.
He believed a temporary chain had been in place.
He arrived after the fall and saw yellow chain stretched between two posts.
No one told him it had been reattached afterward.
At least not that he remembered.
He acknowledged Melissa may have tried.
He did not accuse her of lying.
Maintenance supervisor records became the next focus.
The boardwalk authority initially said documents older than three years may have been destroyed under retention schedules.
Rebecca requested everything preserved in the original litigation archive.
That changed the answer.
Because lawsuits preserved things.
Work orders.
Emails.
Contractor invoices.
Photographs.
Daniel hated the irony.
The old case that failed to reveal the truth had preserved the records capable of revealing it later.
A maintenance order dated the morning Ava died read:
NORTH PROMENADE — RAIL PANEL 6B LOOSE AT LOWER BASE. REMOVE PANEL AND REWELD BRACKET. TEMPORARY BARRIER REQUIRED UNTIL REINSTALL.
Work began at 3:58 p.m.
Panel removed at 4:21.
Estimated reinstall: 6:00.
Then another note:
WELD SHOP DELAY — RETURN FIRST SHIFT TOMORROW.
No record documented replacement with a fixed temporary barrier.
Only:
CONES/CHAIN PLACED.
Daniel stared at the page.
“That's it?”
Rebecca nodded.
The contractor’s internal policy required temporary openings on pedestrian edges to be protected by rigid barricade or secured railing substitute if the permanent rail could not be restored before public hours.
A plastic chain and cones did not meet the policy.
The boardwalk remained open until midnight.
Rebecca looked at Daniel.
“This matters.”
He did not feel victorious.
“Would it have changed the case?”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt more than anything.
“What?”
“The comparative-fault analysis.”
“The settlement value.”
“Possibly the city’s decision to settle.”
“Possibly your decision to accept.”
Daniel stood and walked to the window.
He could not look at paper.
“Did they know?”
Rebecca took time.
“The maintenance records were produced in the original litigation.”
Daniel turned.
“What?”
“They were in the production.”
His anger exploded.
“Our lawyer had them?”
“Possibly.”
“Then how did nobody—”
“Daniel.”
“No.”
He pointed toward the work order.
“This says temporary barrier required.”
“Yes.”
“And we spent a year being told Ava climbed a rail.”
“Yes.”
“Where was this?”
Rebecca looked toward a document index.
“Six thousand pages into production.”
He laughed in disbelief.
“That is your answer?”
“No.”
“It is context.”
She continued.
“Your former attorney may have seen it.”
“May have treated it as less important because the police report said a barrier was present.”
“He may have assumed the chain satisfied the order.”
“We need to ask.”
Daniel hated asking.
He wanted blame.
Specific.
Immediate.
Former attorney Peter Langley was sixty-seven now and semi-retired.
He met with them voluntarily.
His face changed when Rebecca showed him the recovered photographs.
“Oh.”
Daniel stared.