She reminded him that property control required accurate documentation.
He laughed.
"Then document what you're told."
Evelyn did not laugh.
She had raised two children while working in that building.
Had attended countless evidence-training sessions.
Had testified in court about chain-of-custody records.
And had spent almost thirty years believing that honest paperwork mattered because people's freedom could depend upon it.
She was not about to pretend an evidence bag contained eighteen thousand dollars when the original receipt said more than two hundred thousand.
But she also had a mortgage.
A retirement date approaching.
And a daughter with medical expenses Evelyn helped pay.
Losing her job would hurt.
She knew that too.
So she began saving her concerns through the official reporting channels.
Most went unanswered.
A few returned with instructions not to pursue the matter further.
Then came the South Harbor Auto Exchange case.
She remembered the evidence package because it was unusually heavy.
Not physically heavy.
Administratively heavy.
The paperwork arrived late.
The currency amount was substantial.
The property seals carried two sets of initials.
And the receiving officer appeared nervous.
The original paperwork listed two sealed currency packages and one separate pouch containing digital evidence.
By the time the items reached the central property record, only one currency package remained.
The second package was no longer reflected as a separate item.
Neither was the digital pouch.
Evelyn questioned the discrepancy.
Sergeant Keller told her the count had been corrected.
When she asked where the second bag went, he said it had been consolidated.
When she asked for the consolidation form, he told her to stop wasting time.
She made a note.
Three weeks later, she discovered that page 187 had been removed from the bound transfer ledger.
She recognized the page number immediately.
It covered the South Harbor evidence intake.
She reported the damage.
Keller told her the matter was closed.
Then she noticed something else.
A transfer record had been entered into the digital system under a supervisor's credentials.
The record did not explain the missing property.
Instead, it stated that a certain item had been transferred for "command review."
There was no return date.
No location.
No receiving signature.
And the property-control number did not appear in the final case inventory.
Evelyn told me all of this in a small interview room near the precinct's rear entrance.
She sat across from me, hands folded in her lap.
Her expression remained controlled.
But I could see how frightened she was.
"Ms. Price, did you keep a copy of the original transfer record?"