Chapter 2 - A Receipt Without a Name
"You brought a bag with his name on it," I told Voss. "Before you'd even looked at the jacket."
"We knew what was in the donation shipment."
"Then why was it sent here?"
Voss set a paper form on the counter and placed his hand over the upper half.
"Return of misrouted county property. Sign at the bottom."
Elliot leaned in to see it.
"You told me every piece of my boy's clothing had been accounted for."
"Mr. Bell, move away from the counter."
I reached for my phone.
Voss watched my hand, but I wasn't calling anyone. I photographed both sides of the jacket, the label, the torn fibers, and the property bag before he could stop me.
"You can't photograph county evidence," he said.
"You just told me it wasn't evidence."
The heat went out of his face.
He held out the form again.
I had three employees counting on Friday's payroll, a commercial lease due for renewal, and a daughter who already thought I spent too much of my life worrying about keeping this place open.
So I made the first bad decision of the week.
I signed the form without lifting his hand to read the top.
Voss slid the jacket into his bag.
Elliot stared at me like I had betrayed someone standing in the room.
"You gave it to him."
"I took pictures. I thought—"
"They took my son. And now you let them take the only thing we've found."
He walked out before I could reply.
Voss left a yellow carbon copy beside the register.
"You did the sensible thing," he said.
"Who sent it here?"
"Clerical mistake."
"Whose?"
"Have a nice afternoon."
The patrol car pulled away, leaving the glass full of ordinary gray weather again.
I unfolded the carbon copy. Above my signature someone had typed VOLUNTARY SURRENDER OF UNCLAIMED PROPERTY.
That wasn't what Voss had said.
My daughter June arrived from community college fifteen minutes later carrying a grocery bag of apples and the kind of concern she tried to hide from me.
I showed her the photographs.
She studied the hole, then enlarged the label on Voss's bag.
"Mom, look at the number."
"What number?"
"It starts with E. That's how the sheriff's office numbers its property records. We saw it when my criminology class toured the evidence room."
She looked up from the screen.
"Why would a donation bag have an evidence number?"
May you like
Before I could answer, the shop phone rang.
A woman's voice said, "I'm the county employee who sent that jacket. Don't call this number again."
