Paul called the digital forensic specialist into the room. She sat beside him while Noah continued.
"This next entry is removable media activity."
"The blue USB?" Paul asked.
"Most likely. A device was connected to the same liaison workstation. Several directories were opened. Then the device was removed."
"And after Maya returned?"
Noah's expression tightened. "That's when someone tried to clean the system." He opened another report. "There was a request to clear portions of the access history and camera routing log. The visible interface would have made it look successful, but the hospital keeps a separate administrative audit record."
"Can that audit record be altered?"
"Not through the liaison terminal. So, whoever tried the deletion either didn't know the secondary log existed or couldn't reach it."
"Exactly."
The forensic specialist examined the metadata. "Do you still have the original server copies?"
"Yes. I preserved them in a protected archive before I contacted anyone."
"Who has access?"
"Hospital infrastructure administrators and legal, once they authorize it. I made sure I wasn't the only person who could reach the records."
Paul looked at him. "Why?"
Noah gave a tired shrug. "Because if everything depended on me, then all somebody had to do was discredit me."
That answer told Paul more about Noah's state of mind than anything else he had said. "What made you contact Maya in the first place?"
Noah hesitated. "I saw the lockdown. Then I saw the cameras move. Then I saw a police terminal querying archived video while officers were searching a patient's property in a room without coverage."
"That still doesn't explain why you called her."
"No, it doesn't." Noah looked down at his hands. "My wife spent years working hospital billing. When our insurance changed, we nearly lost coverage for her heart medication because one code was entered wrong. It took six weeks to fix something everybody admitted was a mistake." Paul waited; Noah continued: "That taught me something about systems: if the paperwork says the wrong thing long enough, the wrong thing starts becoming reality. Last night, I watched people deliberately create that kind of paperwork." He looked up. "So, I called the person they had pushed outside."
Paul nodded slowly. "Your mortgage still needs paying?"
Noah almost laughed. "Yes."
"Health insurance?"
"Yes."
"Retirement account?"
"Not nearly enough in it."
"Then you understand coming forward may become uncomfortable."
"I do."
"And you still want your name attached to the statement?"
Noah took a breath. "Yes."