"Please do."
She waited.
In another office, a printer started.
Someone spoke in a low voice.
A door closed.
Finally, a different man came onto the call.
"This is Deputy Chief Martin Cole."
"Deputy Chief."
"I understand you are requesting records connected to a traffic stop."
"Correct."
"May I ask what your role is in this matter?"
"I am coordinating the preservation request on behalf of Mr. Morgan."
"Are you with the state?"
"No."
"The federal government?"
"That is not relevant to the preservation request."
Cole exhaled sharply.
"Ms. Brooks, I need to understand what kind of situation we're dealing with."
"You are dealing with a request to preserve records before they are lost, altered, or routinely overwritten."
"We have established procedures."
"Then following them should be straightforward."
The deputy chief did not respond immediately.
Evelyn continued.
"Please preserve the dispatch recording, vehicle camera files, body-camera files, metadata, officer assignment logs, computer-aided dispatch records, and every version of any incident report created in connection with the stop."
"Every version?"
"Yes."
"Why would there be multiple versions?"
"That is precisely why the records should be preserved."
Silence followed.
Then Cole said, "I will speak to the chief."
"Thank you."
Before he disconnected, Evelyn added one more sentence.
"Deputy Chief, please do not contact Mr. Morgan to discuss the substance of his complaint without documenting that contact."
Cole's voice became colder.
"I know how to run my department."
"I hope so."
She ended the call.
For several seconds, she sat motionless.
Then she opened a second file.
It was not a file about David.
It was a file about Bellhaven's police department.
The file contained a series of complaints that had never been formally connected. Each incident appeared minor when examined alone. A missing receipt. A disputed cash seizure. A body camera that had not recorded an encounter. A report amended after a supervisor requested clarification.
The names differed.
The dates differed.
The circumstances were not identical.
But a pattern was beginning to emerge.
Evelyn opened the oldest complaint.
It had been filed eleven months earlier by a delivery driver who claimed that an officer had removed money from his wallet during a roadside stop.
The complaint had been closed as unsubstantiated.
The next case involved a mechanic whose cash had allegedly been retained during a vehicle search.
That complaint had been withdrawn.
The third involved a young woman who reported that an officer had threatened to arrest her after she questioned a search of her purse.
The file contained no video.
The fourth concerned a retired construction worker who claimed that an officer had taken cash and later described it as evidence.
The complaint had been classified as a documentation error.
Evelyn leaned back.
Four cases did not prove a conspiracy.
But four cases involving similar allegations deserved a closer look.
She searched for the names of the officers involved.
One name appeared twice.
Another appeared in a supervisory review.
And the third was Tyler Grant.
Evelyn stared at the screen.
Then she called David back.
He answered after the first ring.
"I found something," she said.
"What?"
"Your stop may not be the first incident involving this officer."
David was quiet.
"How many?"
"At least two complaints connected to him, plus other complaints involving similar allegations elsewhere in the department."
"Any evidence?"
"Not enough to draw a conclusion yet."
"Then don't draw one."
"I won't."
"Look for the records that were used to close the complaints."
"I am."
"And look for what is missing."
Evelyn glanced at the case files.
"That was my next step."
David's voice became more serious.
"Evelyn, if somebody has been doing this repeatedly, they may have learned how to make each incident look isolated."
"I know."
"And if someone has been helping them?"
"Then we need evidence of that, too."
David watched Tyler step out of the patrol car.
The officer was walking toward him again.
"I have to go," David said.
"Stay safe."
"I will."
He ended the call.
Tyler stopped a few feet away.
"Who was that?"
David put the phone away.
"Someone who takes records seriously."
Tyler's face tightened.
"You think you can ruin my career with a phone call?"
"No."
"Then what do you think you're doing?"
David looked at him.
"Giving you a chance to tell the truth."
For a moment, Tyler said nothing.
Then he laughed, but the sound was thin and forced.
"You don't know anything about me."
"That is true."
"You don't know how this job works."
"That may also be true."
"You think every decision is black and white?"
"No. I think that is why documentation matters."
Tyler stared at him.
David continued, his voice still calm.
"People make mistakes. People misunderstand situations. Sometimes an officer makes a decision that turns out to be wrong."
Tyler's eyes narrowed.
"But taking money from a man's wallet and putting it in your own pocket is not a misunderstanding."
The words struck harder than a shout.
Tyler's mouth opened.
Then closed.
Before he could respond, a vehicle turned off the highway and approached from the north.
It was another police cruiser.
Tyler looked at it with visible relief.
At last, someone from his department was arriving.
He expected support.
He expected a supervisor who would listen to his version of events and help restore order.
He expected David Morgan to discover that a phone call could not make him untouchable.
The cruiser pulled behind Tyler's patrol car.