Lorenz read it twice. He read the last line three times.
"No consent given," he said.
"You didn't give it."
"You didn't have to write that."
"Yeah," the cop said. "I did." He put the pen down on the ledger, exactly parallel to the edge of the page, and straightened up, and for a moment he looked very tired, and older than forty, and Lorenz thought that if he had seen this man in the galley at three in the morning he would have made him eggs. "I'm going to go see the prosecutor tomorrow. Today. About Haddix. I'll take her the pan." He hesitated. "I don't know what they'll do. The car loan's still the car loan. Her grandmother's dead, she says the money was from the funeral, from an envelope at the funeral. I didn't believe that either." He was quiet for a second. "I don't know what they'll do," he said again.
"You could go see her," Lorenz said.
Brodersen looked at him.
"Not the prosecutor. Her," Lorenz said. "Tell her what you found."
"Her lawyer'll tell her."
"Yes."