“No.”
“I mean I want protection first.”
Maya studied him.
“From whom?”
Brennan looked toward Hale.
“Not him.”
“Who?”
“Cole.”
There it was.
Brennan's story came slowly.
Four years earlier, Cole had approached him about reducing evidence-processing delays.
Metro Asset Recovery would transport non-narcotic seized property to centralized storage.
Legal.
Approved.
Then Cole began asking Brennan to “correct” intake discrepancies.
Small things.
A serial digit.
A cash count.
A missing signature.
Brennan complied because Cole said mistakes threatened cases.
Then Reyes became involved.
Reyes handled street seizures and emergency transfers.
Cash began vanishing.
Brennan confronted Cole.
Cole showed him photographs of Brennan taking prescription pain medication from an unsecured evidence locker two years earlier after a back injury.
Brennan had stolen six pills.
No excuse.
A crime.
Cole had proof.
“If I talked, he said he'd bury me.”
Maya looked at him.
“And so you helped him steal?”
Brennan's eyes filled.
“At first, I changed two forms.”
“Then more.”
“How much money?”
“I don't know.”
“You signed.”
“I didn't always see amounts.”
“That's convenient.”
“I know.”
Maya's voice hardened.
“Who sent anonymous packages?”
Brennan stared at table.
“I did.”
Hale closed eyes.
Maya said:
“Why?”
“Because I couldn't keep doing it.”
“Why anonymous?”
“I’m a coward.”
“No.”
Maya said.
“Cowardice is description, not answer.”
Brennan looked at her.
“What were you afraid of?”
“My wife.”
“My pension.”
“Prison.”
“My children finding out what I did.”
“So you tried exposing ring without exposing yourself.”
“Yes.”
Maya leaned back.
“The woman in red.”
Brennan nodded.
“A code.”
“For what?”
“There was a city prosecutor who complained about missing evidence.”
“She wore red suit the day Cole humiliated her in command meeting.”
“He later had her purse searched at courthouse claiming security issue.”
“He found notes showing she was contacting IA.”
Maya's stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
“She transferred offices.”