There was one photograph.
A printed bank transfer.
And a small folded note.
Victoria looked at the photograph first.
It showed Gregory Shaw standing outside a warehouse. Beside him was Captain Robert Harlan.
The date printed in the corner was almost two years old.
Victoria recognized the location.
“That's the old Sentinel storage facility.”
The technician handed her the bank transfer.
The document showed a payment of $96,000 from Sentinel Civic Solutions to a company named Northbridge Advisory Group.
Victoria's expression changed.
She knew that name.
It appeared in one of the financial records she had received during the investigation.
Northbridge Advisory Group had been paid for consulting services connected to the police department's equipment procurement program.
But the company had no listed employees.
No public office.
No verifiable business operations.
It was a name on paper that seemed to exist only to receive money.
She unfolded the note.
Five words had been written in black ink.
THE ORIGINAL FILE IS STILL HERE.
Victoria read it twice.
Judge Whitmore watched her.
“What does it mean?”
Victoria looked at the bank transfer.
“It means Gregory Shaw may have been keeping a copy of the original financial records.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
“Does the note identify the location?”
“No.”
She turned it over.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a faint impression beneath the handwriting.
Someone had written something on another sheet of paper beneath it.
The pressure had left marks.
Victoria tilted the note toward the light.
Letters slowly became visible.
ROOM 214.
She stared at them.
“Room 214?”
The judge repeated the words.
“Does that mean anything to you?”
Victoria did not answer immediately.
She remembered the Sentinel contract.
She remembered the missing delivery records.
She remembered an address listed in the original procurement file.
A warehouse on the eastern edge of the city.
The building had been divided into numbered storage rooms.
The original equipment inventory listed Room 214 as the location where the missing equipment had supposedly been delivered.
But there was another problem.
That warehouse had officially closed eighteen months earlier.
Victoria looked at the judge.
“I believe we just found the location of the original records.”
Cole suddenly stood.
“Your Honor, I strongly object to any attempt to use this note as grounds for further action.”
Judge Whitmore looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because we don't know who wrote it.”
“Correct.”
“We don't know whether it is authentic.”
“Correct.”
“And we don't know what Room 214 refers to.”
Victoria turned toward him.
“Then why are you so concerned?”
Cole stared at her.
“I am concerned because this court is allowing unverified material to dictate the direction of a criminal proceeding.”
Victoria placed the note back on the table.
“Mr. Cole, if Room 214 means nothing, you should have no reason to fear anyone looking inside.”
He didn't answer.
And that silence told her more than his objections had.
Chapter 17 — A Call from the Chief
The courtroom security supervisor approached Judge Whitmore with a phone.
“Your Honor, the chief of courthouse security is on the line.”
“Put him through.”
The supervisor handed over the device.
Judge Whitmore listened.
Her expression grew increasingly serious.
“What do you mean the access logs are missing?”
She paused.
“From which system?”
Another pause.
“Who authorized the deletion?”
She looked toward Victoria.
Then toward Lawson.
“Do not restore anything yet. Preserve the system exactly as it is. I want the original storage device secured.”
She ended the call.
Victoria waited.
“What happened?”
“The access logs for the east parking garage were deleted.”
“When?”
“Approximately fifteen minutes after the vehicle left.”
Victoria looked at the security supervisor.
“Can they be recovered?”
“Possibly. The system creates backup records, but someone appears to have disabled automatic replication.”
“Who has administrative access?”
“Three people.”
“Names?”
The supervisor checked his notes.
“The chief of courthouse security, the deputy systems administrator, and an outside maintenance contractor.”
“Which contractor?”
He hesitated.
“Sentinel Protective Services.”
Victoria closed her eyes for a moment.
The company was everywhere.
It had a connection to the missing equipment.
It had a connection to the suspicious security contract.
And now it had access to the courthouse's surveillance system.
Judge Whitmore slowly lowered the phone.
“Mr. Cole, did your office recommend Sentinel Protective Services for the courthouse contract?”
Cole looked down.
“I don't recall.”
Victoria turned toward him.
“You don't recall?”
“I handle dozens of procurement matters.”
“You signed the recommendation.”
“I may have reviewed it.”
“Did you disclose your previous relationship with the company's financial administrator?”