The passenger door of my truck opened.

The plainclothes woman stood there.

“May I?”

“Sure.”

She sat sideways on the seat, keeping one foot on the pavement.

“You holding up?”

“I’ve had worse evenings.”

“So I read.”

I looked at her.

She didn’t elaborate.

She knew enough about my service record to make the comment. I knew enough about her work not to ask how much.

She held a folder.

“We need to discuss what happens next.”

“I assumed you would.”

“This is bigger than tonight.”

“I figured.”

She watched Miller through the windshield.

“We’ve had complaints.”

“How many?”

“Enough that I’m not giving you a number in a parking lot.”

“Property complaints?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

She looked at me again.

“Cash during searches. Jewelry that doesn’t reach intake. Electronics marked as unclaimed. Property logged under incomplete identifiers.”

“And Miller?”

“Appears repeatedly.”

I nodded.

“What about Davis?”

“Too early.”

“He looked surprised.”

“So did you.”

“I was supposed to.”

That earned the smallest hint of a smile.

Then it disappeared.

“We didn’t know Miller would put the watch in his pocket.”

“You suspected.”

“We suspected procedural irregularities.”

“That’s a polite phrase.”

“It holds up in court.”

I looked past her.

Miller was arguing quietly with the sergeant.

“You knew he’d called me.”

“Yes.”

“You knew the location.”

“Yes.”

“You knew he’d asked me to bring proof.”

“Yes.”

“And you wanted to see what he did after I produced it.”

“Yes.”

I leaned back.

The seat creaked.

“What happens to the watch?”

“It stays in evidence tonight.”

My jaw tightened.

She saw it.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

She didn’t challenge me.

That made it easier.

I rubbed my thumb against the cane handle.

“He wore it when he graduated college. Wore it when he got married. Wore it the last morning I saw him alive.”

The woman lowered the folder.

“What happened?”

I looked toward the empty storefronts.

“Car accident.”

I had not said those words aloud in months.

“Rain. Delivery truck crossed the center line. He died before I reached the hospital.”

“I’m sorry.”

I nodded.

“He used to set that watch five minutes fast because he was always late anyway.”

She waited.

“I kept it that way.”

Another pause.

“It’s still five minutes fast?”

“It was when it was taken.”

“That may help.”

I looked at her.

“How?”

“Chain of identification.”

I almost laughed.

“My son being late may finally become evidence.”

“Families find uses for everything.”

Her tone had no sentimentality in it.

I appreciated that.

She opened the folder.

“There’s another issue.”

“Of course there is.”

“Miller didn’t recover the watch from a pawn suspect.”

I looked at her.

“We checked the preliminary recovery log.”

“And?”

“No entry.”

“So where did he get it?”

“We don’t know yet.”

My eyes moved toward him.

He had called me less than twenty-four hours after the burglary.

If the watch had never been logged—

“Was he at my house?”

“No.”

“Then whoever stole it got it to him.”

“Possibly.”

“Or someone in the department recovered it and he intercepted it.”

“Also possible.”

I stared at the evidence bag now sitting on the hood of the supervisor’s SUV.

The story had changed.

My house had not merely been burglarized.

My grief had entered someone else’s system.

And somewhere between my bedroom and this parking lot, a police officer had decided my son’s watch could become his.

The woman closed the folder.

“We can return you home.”

“I drove.”

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“I’ve been alone most nights for six years.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

She stood.

I stopped her.

“What do you need from me?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“How far you’re willing to go.”

I looked at Miller.

He had stopped arguing.

He was staring at me now.

Not angry.

Studying.

I understood that look.

He was trying to determine whether I was merely a witness.

Or a threat.

“What does ‘far’ mean?”

The woman’s answer came quietly.

“It means tonight may not be the end of your involvement.”

I looked down at my prosthetic.

Then at the radio in my hand.

Then at the sealed watch.

“My son didn’t get a choice about losing that watch.”

I lifted my eyes.

“I do.”

Part IV — Pressure

The next morning, the house felt violated in a different way.

The burglary had left obvious damage: splintered trim near the back door, drawers pulled open, the bedroom closet disturbed.

But after the parking lot, I noticed smaller things.

The gap where the watch box had been.

The empty hook where one of my medals had hung inside the study cabinet.

The kitchen chair the burglar had apparently moved and never returned.

Evidence technicians had already come through.

Now the house was mine again.

In theory.

I made coffee and sat at the table without drinking it.

My son’s old photograph stood near the window.

He was thirty-two in that picture, holding a fish he had absolutely not caught alone despite what he had later claimed.

I could still hear him arguing about it.

I looked away.

At 8:17, the phone rang.

Unknown number.

I answered.

No one spoke.

Then the call ended.

At 8:24, it happened again.

I wrote the times down.

Old habits.

At 8:41, someone knocked.

Three deliberate taps.

I approached from the side window first.

Officer Davis stood on the porch.

Alone.

Out of uniform.

I did not open the door immediately.

“What do you want?”

He looked toward the window, unable to see me behind the curtain.

“Sir, it’s Davis.”

“I know.”

“I need to talk.”

“Are you supposed to be here?”

“No.”

That was at least honest.

I opened the door but left the storm door closed.

He wore jeans and a gray sweatshirt under a jacket. Without the uniform, he looked younger.

And tired.

“You have five minutes.”

He nodded.

“I messed up.”

“That narrows nothing down.”

His mouth tightened.

“I knew he bent rules.”

“Miller.”

“Yes.”

“You knew he stole property?”

“No.”

“You laughed when he threatened me.”

Davis looked down.

“I know.”

“Why?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I thought it was nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Not the watch. The way he talked to you.”

I studied him.

“You thought humiliating an old man with a cane was nothing.”

His face changed.

“That sounds worse when you say it.”

“It was worse when you did it.”

He had no answer.

I opened the storm door.

“Three minutes.”

He stepped inside.

I left him standing in the kitchen.

He noticed the damaged door.

“I’m sorry about the break-in.”

“Why are you here?”

He took a breath.

“Miller called me last night after they released me.”

“They released him?”

“Administrative status. Took his weapon and credentials pending investigation.”

“And he called you?”

“From another number.”

“What did he want?”

Davis hesitated.

I waited.

“He wanted to know what I told them.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Nothing.”

“No. What did you tell investigators?”

His gaze moved to the table.

“The truth.”

“That covers a lot of ground.”