"I haven't checked."
He nodded.
"Could be a broken index."
"Probably."
Neither considered it a scandal.
Archives developed broken links.
Software changed.
Databases required maintenance.
A missing link was not proof that evidence had been destroyed or concealed.
But Ellis noticed something in the metadata.
Two different complaints carried the same closure description.
Withdrawn by complainant.
He frowned.
"Does that field come from the original records?"
Ruth studied the screen.
"I'm not sure."
"Did the old system use the same language?"
"I'll have to check."
Ellis leaned back.
"Could just be a conversion problem."
Ruth nodded.
"That's what I'm hoping."
She opened a notebook.
"Let's document it before we assume anything."
Ellis smiled.
"My uncle would've liked you."
Ruth returned the smile.
"Your uncle used to correct our exhibition captions."
"I know."
"He once sent me a four-page letter because we called an investigative review comprehensive."
Ellis laughed.
"What was wrong with that?"
"He wanted to know whether it covered every relevant agency, record, and time period."
"Did it?"
"No."
Ruth shook her head.
"So we changed it."
They both laughed.
Then she looked toward the screen again.
"Let's see what happened to those links."
Across the city, a woman named Tessa Ward was trying for the fourth time to find out why her complaint had disappeared.
Tessa was forty-one years old, a Black American mother of two who operated a small hair salon near Ridgemont's western bus terminal.
She had built the business over fourteen years.
Her customers included teachers, nurses, retail workers, students, and elderly women who had been coming to her since she first rented a chair in another salon.
Tessa worked long hours.
She did not enjoy paperwork.