Chapter 3 - The Audit Begins early
The response was instantaneous. My phone vibrated with a single, brief confirmation code.
I knew exactly what was happening behind the scenes. The moment Marcus received that message, a remote, high-priority state warrant would be digitally served to the Maplewood IT server room. Every byte of data within this building—the security camera feeds, the dispatch logs, the internal radio transmissions, and the individual body camera footage—would be instantly cloned and uploaded to a secure state server in the capital. Any attempt to delete or alter the files from this point forward would trigger an automatic federal obstruction charge.
Chief Enzo saw the confidence in my eyes, and for the first time, a flicker of genuine doubt crossed his face. He stepped back, his hands resting on his duty belt, his eyes darting toward the heavy door of the evidence room.
“Colton,” I said, finally turning to look at my brother. “This is your last chance to save yourself. Did you see Dana hit Mom with the bat?”
Colton swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He looked at Dana, who was glaring at him with a lethal intensity, and then at Chief Enzo.
“I... I told you, Casey,” Colton stammered, his voice thin and pathetic. “Mom fell. She’s been having these delusions. She’s been accusing Dana of stealing her jewelry, of trying to force her out of her house. It was an accident.”
“I see,” I said. “And the mud on Dana’s blanket? The blanket currently folded neatly under Chief Enzo’s desk? The blanket that matches the muddy tire tracks left in our mother’s driveway tonight?”
Enzo’s eyes widened. He made a subtle, desperate gesture to Officer Ross, who immediately stepped toward his desk, attempting to block the view of the blue blanket with his body.
“You’re grasping at straws, Peterson,” Enzo sneered, though his voice had lost its booming authority. “You have no authority here. This is a local municipal matter. We have a signed statement from the victim, Dana Peterson, and a corroborating witness, Colton Peterson. Your mother is the aggressor.”
“Then let’s talk about the bat,” I said.
I walked past Enzo, my boots clicking firmly on the linoleum, heading directly toward the heavy, half-open door of the evidence room.
“Stop her!” Enzo yelled. “Miller, Ross, detain her!”
Neither officer moved. They were young enough to know what a state special counsel badge meant, and they were old enough to know that when the ship starts sinking, the captain is the only one who has to go down with it. They stood frozen, watching me walk straight to the evidence door.
I pushed the door open.
The room was small, filled with metal shelving units holding plastic bins and cardboard boxes. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth.
And there, lying on the central steel table, was a black, aluminum Easton baseball bat.
The barrel of the bat was covered in fresh, wet mud, matching the soil from my mother’s garden. But more importantly, near the handle of the bat, there was a smear of dark, wet crimson, and a few strands of silver hair clung to the metal rivets.
It hadn't been bagged. It hadn't been tagged. It had simply been brought in through the back door and left on the table to be disposed of later, once my mother had been safely processed into a county psychiatric facility.
I pulled a pair of sterile latex gloves from my coat pocket—a standard item I always carried in my field kit—and pulled them on. I reached into my bag, retrieved a small, clear evidence collection pouch, and carefully slid the bat inside, sealing the top.
I walked back out into the bullpen, holding the sealed bag in my hand.
“Officer Miller,” I said, looking at the rookie. “Whose vehicle did this bat come from?”
Miller’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He looked at Chief Enzo, whose face had gone from red to a dark, dangerous purple.
“Don’t say a word, Miller!” Enzo barked. “That’s an order!”
“It’s too late for orders, Chief,” I said.
The heavy glass front doors of the precinct suddenly hissed open.
Through the icy rain, four tall, imposing figures stepped into the lobby. They were dressed in dark, tactical windbreakers with the letters STATE POLICE printed in bold, reflective yellow across their chests. Leading them was Captain Marcus Vance, his silver hair cropped close, his eyes carrying the cold, no-nonsense look of a man who had spent thirty years putting corrupt officials behind bars.
“Captain Vance,” I said, handing him the sealed evidence bag containing the muddy, blood-stained bat. “Secure this. And prepare the transport. We’re moving my mother to the state university hospital immediately.”
Enzo took a step back, his hand instinctively dropping toward his holster.
“You can’t do this, Vance!” Enzo yelled. “This is my jurisdiction! You have no warrant!”
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Marcus Vance didn't even look at him. He pulled a folded, official document from his inner pocket and slapped it onto the front desk in front of Officer Ross.
“This is an emergency executive order from the State Attorney General’s office, Enzo,” Marcus said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble. “As of 2:50 a.m., the Maplewood Police Department is under active federal and state receivership. You are relieved of your command. Your officers are disarmed. And you, Chief Enzo, are under arrest for conspiracy, obstruction of justice, and official misconduct.”
