“No.”

“Did you use a key?”

Elaine glanced at Daniel.

Then back at the lieutenant.

“Yes.”

“Whose key?”

“The HOA's.”

The lieutenant looked at the keyring.

Her face changed.

It happened quickly.

But Daniel saw it.

The lieutenant stepped closer.

“Ma'am.”

Elaine looked at her.

“Where did you get that key?”

“I told you.”

“Where?”

“The HOA.”

The lieutenant reached toward the keyring but stopped before touching it.

“Do not move.”

Elaine froze.

The lieutenant turned to the other officer.

“Call dispatch.”

The officer reached for his radio.

Daniel's eyes narrowed.

“What is it?”

The lieutenant didn't answer immediately.

She looked again at the key.

Then at Elaine.

Then at the stamped number.

Finally she said:

“Freeze.”

Elaine's lips parted.

The lieutenant pointed at the keyring.

“That key was reported missing from our evidence room three weeks ago.”

Silence.

Even the wind seemed to stop.

Elaine stared at her.

“No.”

The lieutenant stepped forward.

“Yes.”

“No. That's impossible.”

“Don't move your hands.”

Elaine looked down at the key.

Then back at the lieutenant.

“I got it from the HOA.”

The lieutenant's voice became colder.

“Who gave it to you?”

Elaine couldn't answer.

Daniel slowly lowered his phone.

He was still recording.

But now he wasn't recording an HOA dispute.

He was recording something else.

Something much bigger.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Missing Key

The police had originally treated the missing key as a security problem.

Three weeks earlier, Lieutenant Marissa Cole had received a report from the evidence-room supervisor.

One restricted master key was missing.

Not misplaced.

Missing.

The key belonged to a ring used for limited-access areas of the station.

It could open several secured interior doors.

Evidence storage.

Administrative corridors.

Certain exterior access points.

It was never supposed to leave the building.

Every key was logged.

Every transfer was documented.

Every use was supposed to be authorized.

The missing key had triggered an internal investigation.

At first, nobody knew who had taken it.

There had been no forced entry.

No broken locks.

No obvious sign of theft.

The station's cameras had shown nothing conclusive.

That made the disappearance more disturbing.

Someone with legitimate access had taken it.

Someone who knew the system.

Someone who understood where the cameras were.

Someone who knew exactly how long the key could be missing before anyone noticed.

Now that key was in the hand of an HOA president.

Inside a private backyard.

Next to a pool filled with rotten food.

Lieutenant Cole looked at Elaine.

“Put the keyring on the ground.”

Elaine obeyed slowly.

The keys landed on the concrete.

Daniel stared.

One of the officers photographed them.

Another began photographing the pool.

Elaine suddenly began talking.

“This is a misunderstanding.”

“No,” Lieutenant Cole said.