Chapter 4 - The County's Version
At eight the next morning, I walked into the Briar County administration building carrying a folder instead of the jacket I should have kept.
Behind a glass partition, a clerk told me donation records weren't public.
"I'm asking who authorized a county coat to go to my business," I said. "Not for anyone's medical records."
"You'll have to submit a records request."
I did.
Then I asked for the property number June had seen on Voss's bag, and the clerk's expression changed.
"Sheriff's office. Different agency."
By lunch I had filed a second request with the sheriff's office and received a dated receipt. There was no immediate disclosure, just a paper trail.
Back at Second Shift, my employee Rosa had just hung a notice from the landlord beside the time clock.
BUILDING SYSTEMS INSPECTION - FRIDAY, 9 A.M.
"He called twice," Rosa said. "Said the wiring behind the presses was an issue."
That part was true. I'd postponed replacing the old outlet bank because the estimate was nearly three thousand dollars.
A truth used at the right moment could be as effective as a lie.
At four, Sheriff Harlan entered the shop alone.
He was sixty-one, broad-shouldered, with the deliberate manners of a man who never had to repeat a request.
"Mara. You've been good to Bellwether for years."
"I try to be."
He looked toward the pressing station.
"Elliot's grief makes him see patterns that aren't there. I'd hate for you to get caught up in it."
"Why was Owen's jacket in an evidence bag?"
"Your daughter misread a number."
"You haven't seen the photograph."
He smiled, but it stopped at his mouth.
"You ought to fix that electrical problem. Nobody wants a fire."
When he left, Rosa asked whether we were in trouble.
"Not yet," I lied.
June came in after class and read the inspection notice. She didn't accuse me of dragging our business into someone else's disaster. She asked, quietly, how long I'd known the wiring needed repairs.
"Since spring."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I didn't want you worrying about money."
"I already do."
Then she placed a folded printout on the counter. It was a newspaper notice from eleven months earlier, the week Owen vanished.
The sheriff had told reporters Owen drove away by himself.
May you like
But the truck photographed at the bus station in the same article had a right rear fender bent inward.
"Look at Owen's truck in Mr. Bell's picture," June said. "That fender wasn't bent."
