The man beneath the soaked clothing remained exactly the same.
Simone approached carrying a clean towel.
“Medical staff are on their way, sir.”
“Thank you.”
She hesitated.
Marcus noticed.
“Something else, Officer Hart?”
Simone lowered her voice.
“Briggs has had complaints before.”
Marcus stopped wiping his jacket.
“How many?”
“I don’t know the exact number.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because I tried reporting one.”
Her words hung between them.
Marcus studied the young officer.
She appeared to be in her late twenties, with tired eyes and the guarded manner of someone accustomed to choosing every word carefully.
“What happened?”
“I was told the matter had already been resolved.”
“By whom?”
Simone looked toward the elevators.
“Deputy Chief Voss.”
Marcus felt something tighten in his chest.
Graham Voss.
The name carried more weight than Simone could possibly understand.
Twenty-seven years earlier, Voss had been the senior detective who encouraged Marcus to join the department’s investigative division.
He had recommended Marcus for promotion.
He had stood beside him at his father’s funeral.
For years, Marcus had considered him a mentor.
Now Voss was Riverton’s deputy chief, responsible for internal operations and personnel discipline.
Marcus looked back at Simone.
“Was your complaint investigated?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did you receive a written finding?”
“No, sir.”
“Then it wasn’t resolved.”
She blinked.
Marcus handed her the towel.
“Document what you remember, and preserve any records you still have.”
“Yes, Commander.”
He paused.
“And Officer Hart?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for telling me.”
For the first time, some of the tension left her face.
Twenty minutes later, Marcus entered the surveillance office.
The room was small and windowless, filled with monitors displaying corridors, stairwells, parking areas, and building entrances.
Security technician Aaron Bell rose from his chair.
“Commander Reed.”
“Sit down, Aaron.”
Marcus pulled up another chair.
“I need the exterior recordings from seven thirty onward, including original files and all available camera angles.”
Aaron’s fingers moved across the keyboard.
“Yes, sir.”
“Preserve the audit logs too.”
Aaron hesitated.
“Those normally require authorization from Deputy Chief Voss.”
Marcus looked at him.
“Does the system allow a preservation hold by the commanding officer?”
“Yes.”
“Then initiate one and document the time.”
Aaron complied.
The first recording appeared.
Marcus watched himself approach headquarters carrying his coffee.
Briggs stepped into his path.
The officer’s deliberate movement was unmistakable.
The next moments unfolded exactly as Marcus remembered.
The cup was taken.
The coffee was thrown.
Briggs laughed.
Marcus felt his stomach tighten when he saw the pedestrians watching.
He could see the humiliation from their perspective now.
One man stood frozen beside a newspaper box.
A young woman covered her mouth.
Nobody knew whether intervening would make matters worse.
Then came the collar grab.
The attempted strike.
Marcus defending himself.
Briggs falling.
Everything was there.
Aaron looked uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Marcus shook his head.
“You didn’t do this.”
He leaned closer to the monitor.
“Go back thirty minutes.”
Aaron rewound the recording.
The entrance appeared almost empty.
Employees came and went.
A delivery courier crossed the steps.
At 8:07, an older woman entered the frame.
Marcus immediately recognized the green coat.
It was the woman from the bus shelter.
She approached Briggs carrying the same brown envelope.
There was no audio on this camera angle, but Marcus could see her speaking.
Briggs shook his head.
She offered the envelope.
He refused.
She tried again.
Then Briggs snatched it from her hands.
Marcus leaned forward.
“Pause.”
Aaron froze the image.
The woman looked frightened.
Briggs appeared furious.
“Do you recognize her?”
Marcus asked.
Aaron stared at the screen.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who is she?”
“Mrs.
Iris Whitcomb.”
“An employee?”
“No.”
“Then why do you know her?”
Aaron shifted uncomfortably.
“Because she’s been coming here almost every morning.”
“For what?”
“She says she has evidence of false police reports.”
Marcus looked at the envelope.
“And?”
“Security was instructed not to let her inside.”
“Who gave that instruction?”
Aaron’s silence lasted too long.
Marcus already knew the answer.
“Deputy Chief Voss?” he asked.
Aaron nodded.
Marcus turned back toward the screen.
“Continue.”
Briggs pushed Iris away from the entrance.
She stumbled but remained standing.
Then, after she departed, he looked around before carrying the envelope toward the side passage.
The next camera showed him approaching a black government sedan.
Someone was waiting beside it.
Marcus recognized the expensive gray suit before the man’s face became visible.
Deputy Chief Graham Voss.
Briggs handed him the envelope.
Voss opened it, glanced inside, and immediately closed it again.
Then he removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket.
He gave it to Briggs.
The officer unfolded the note.
Read it.
And looked directly toward the street where Marcus would arrive thirty minutes later.
Marcus felt the room become strangely distant.
“Aaron,” he said, “can you enlarge that?”
The technician magnified the recording.
The writing remained difficult to read.
But the note contained a printed photograph.
A man wearing a black bomber jacket.
Marcus recognized the photograph.
It was him.
He stared at the screen.
Briggs had not simply chosen a stranger to humiliate.
Someone had shown him exactly whom to intercept.
And the person giving the instruction was the man Marcus had trusted for nearly three decades.
Aaron spoke nervously.
“Commander?”
Marcus rose slowly.
“Preserve this recording separately under the evidence hold.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then contact the external investigations division.”
Aaron looked surprised.
“You’re reporting Deputy Chief Voss?”
Marcus watched his former mentor disappear from the screen.
“I’m reporting what the evidence shows.”