The instruction came from a supervisor who told her that the document needed to be reviewed before it was added to the official case file.
Margaret remembered the time because she had been preparing to finish her shift.
She remembered the supervisor's dark suit, his impatient voice, and the fact that he had stood beside her desk while she entered the document into the register.
“What was his name?” Marcus asked.
“Raymond Keller.”
Elena glanced at Marcus.
Keller had been Brooks's supervisor years later, but at the time of David's death, he had been a senior officer assigned to administrative coordination.
Margaret continued.
“Keller told me the statement was sensitive. He said it contained information that might interfere with the investigation if it was circulated before the investigators had finished their work.”
“Did he explain why?”
“No. I asked whether the statement should be sent to the lead investigator. He said that decision had already been made.”
“What happened next?”
“He instructed me to make a photocopy, register the document as received, and prepare it for transfer to a restricted administrative file.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“Did you follow that instruction?”
“I registered it. I made the photocopy. But I didn't send it immediately.”
“Why not?”
“Because the transfer paperwork was incomplete.”
Margaret opened her handbag and removed the small notebook.
“The form didn't identify the person receiving the file. There was no destination code, and the signature line was blank. I told Keller I couldn't process it that way.”
“What did he say?”
Margaret's fingers tightened around the notebook.
“He told me to stop making a simple administrative task difficult.”
She looked at Marcus.
“Then he told me that the transfer had been approved at a higher level and that my job was to follow instructions, not question decisions made by people above me.”
“Did you refuse?”
“No. I had two children at home, a mortgage, and a husband whose health was deteriorating. I was afraid of losing my job.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I prepared the transfer. But I kept the photocopy because I was concerned the document might become impossible to locate later.”
Marcus did not interrupt.
Margaret explained that she had placed the copy in a temporary folder, intending to compare it with the final transfer receipt once the records office received confirmation.
That confirmation never arrived.
When she asked about it several days later, Keller told her the file had been transferred successfully and that the administrative paperwork would be completed later.
Weeks passed.
Then months.
Eventually, Margaret searched the register and discovered that the case number had been marked as restricted, but the receiving office had never supplied the documentation required to close the transfer.
She raised the issue with her direct supervisor.
He told her not to pursue it.
When she asked why, he said that the matter was being handled by senior management.
“Did you tell anyone else?” Elena asked.
“No. I was afraid that if I made a formal complaint, I would lose my job. I convinced myself that the statement probably wasn't important. I told myself that investigators had other copies, that the witness had already been interviewed, and that the document would eventually find its way into the case file.”
Margaret paused.
“But I knew those were excuses.”
Marcus glanced at the envelope.
“Is the statement inside?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know whether it is the only copy?”
“No. I don't know what happened to the original after I registered it. This is the copy I retained.”
“Did you alter it in any way?”
“No.”
“Have you shown it to anyone?”
“My husband saw it before he died. He knew I had kept a copy, but I never told him the full story. I have not shown it to anyone else.”
Marcus explained the procedure for documenting the envelope. Margaret agreed to have the document examined, and the investigator assigned to the interview photographed the envelope before opening it.
Inside was a photocopy of a handwritten statement.
The first page contained the name Patricia Greene, an address in Westbridge, and a date corresponding to the night David Carter died.
The handwriting was uneven but legible.
Margaret watched as Marcus read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
By the time he reached the final paragraph, his expression had changed.
He set the pages down carefully.
“Mrs. Lewis, do you remember why this statement was not included in the official report?”
“I was never given a reason.”
“Did you ever speak with Patricia Greene?”
“Once, briefly. She came to the records counter a few days after David died. She wanted to know whether her statement had been received.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I could see a reference to it in the register, but I wasn't authorized to tell her anything about the investigation.”
“Did she say whether she had been interviewed?”
Margaret hesitated.