He had worked in government support roles for nearly eight years and was considered dependable.
He wasn't an investigator.
He didn't control the case.
But his assignment gave him access to certain logistical details needed to coordinate authorized meetings.
The information was supposed to remain within a limited group.
Investigators discovered that Elliot had communicated with a relative who worked for a property consulting business connected with Magnolia Commerce Crossing.
At first, he insisted the conversations were ordinary family contact.
That was plausible.
Relatives spoke to one another.
Shared plans.
Asked about work.
But the records showed that certain details about the meeting had moved through those communications shortly before Sheriff Whitlock ordered the stop.
Elliot had also received unexplained payments from a business associated with the consulting network.
When confronted with the evidence, he eventually acknowledged providing information he wasn't authorized to disclose.
He claimed he believed the details would be used for routine scheduling coordination.
Then admitted he'd been asked specifically about the witness meeting.
His attorney advised him.
The matter proceeded through formal channels.
I was devastated.
Not because Elliot had been a close friend.
He wasn't.
But because an investigation depended upon people honoring the limits of their access.
A single person treating protected logistical information as something he could trade or share had exposed a frightened witness and her family to danger.
It had also helped place me in the path of two deputies who were willing to use force before asking questions.
I sat in my office after learning the findings.
For several minutes, I stared at my hands.
The bruising on my shoulder had faded.
But certain movements still brought back an uncomfortable memory of Barrett's grip.
Leah entered without knocking.
She looked at my face.
Then sat.
For a while, neither spoke.
Finally, I whispered, “He wasn't even part of the investigative team.”
Leah nodded.
“No.”
“He didn't know what Nora had been through.”
“Probably not.”
I looked up.
“But he knew enough to understand the information wasn't his to share.”
Leah remained quiet.
Then I said something that had been troubling me.
“How many other people have suffered because somebody thought a small rule didn't matter?”
She considered that.
Then answered.
“More than we probably know.”
I looked toward the case files.
For a moment, I felt overwhelmed.
The towing records.
The property transactions.
The threats.
The roadside stop.
The financial relationships.
And now a compromised support function inside our own operation.
It seemed as though every time we identified one problem, another appeared beneath it.
Leah watched me.