But the sergeant had not finished making mistakes.
And what happened next would expose a disturbing history that the people of Millhaven had been afraid to discuss for years.
Eleven days earlier, the widow had been sitting at her kitchen table beside an old wooden box.
Her house stood on a quiet street at the edge of Millhaven, surrounded by magnolia trees, a narrow front porch, and a garden that had once been her husband's pride.
The building was modest.
Its white paint had faded.
The screen door creaked whenever the wind blew.
And the kitchen floor still carried a few small scratches from the dining chairs her husband had repaired instead of replacing.
But the house was filled with memories.
Photographs covered the walls.
Wedding pictures.
School portraits.
Family celebrations.
And one photograph of a handsome young Black soldier standing proudly in an Army uniform beside a woman wearing a pale-blue summer dress.
The woman was the widow.
The soldier was her husband.
They had been married for fifty-one years.
And even after his death, she sometimes caught herself setting two cups on the breakfast table.
That morning, she had prepared oatmeal, sliced an apple, and opened the old wooden box that normally remained on the highest shelf of her bedroom closet.
Inside were a folded American flag, several carefully preserved letters, faded photographs, a handful of military decorations, and a small velvet case containing a silver Combat Infantryman Badge.
The badge had been issued to her husband during his military service in Vietnam.
It was a simple metal insignia with a rifle and wreath design, but to the widow it represented far more than a military qualification.
It represented the young man who returned from war carrying memories he struggled to explain.
The husband who worked long days afterward.
The father who taught their children to stand upright when life became difficult.
And the man who never allowed the hardships of his own life to become an excuse for humiliating someone else.
She lifted the velvet case.
For several seconds, she held it against her chest.
Then whispered, "I wish you were here."
The kitchen was quiet.
Only the old refrigerator hummed near the window.
She opened the case.
The silver badge rested against a dark fabric lining. Its original pin fittings had been repaired years earlier, and her husband had placed a small engraved keepsake plate beneath it bearing his service years.