“Did they answer?”
“I received a letter saying the matter had been reviewed and that the department considered the available information consistent with its report.”
“Was any evidence attached?”
“No.”
“Did they identify who had reviewed the matter?”
“No.”
Marcus made a note.
The letter was potentially important, but its meaning would depend on verification. They would need to authenticate the document, identify the office that issued it, and determine what records had existed when the department claimed to have completed its review.
“Do you still have the original letter you sent?” Elena asked.
Patricia reached into the envelope again and removed another folded sheet.
“I brought it.”
The paper had yellowed along its creases. The date at the top placed it less than two weeks after David’s death.
Elena carefully examined the signature, the address block, and the departmental stamp visible at the bottom.
One sentence had been underlined twice.
I hope someone will eventually want to know what happened more than they want to protect the people involved.
Marcus read it silently.
“Why did you write that sentence?” he asked.
“Because I had already been made to feel that asking questions was the problem. Nobody told me that I was lying. Nobody said my memory was impossible. They simply acted as though the information had no value.”
She lifted her eyes.
“That was worse in some ways. If they had called me a liar, I could have fought to prove that I was telling the truth. Instead, they made me feel as though the truth itself was an inconvenience.”
Marcus looked at Elena. She had stopped writing.
“Did you ever hear from Raymond Keller again?” he asked.
“Once. About three weeks after I submitted my statement, I saw him in the hospital parking lot. He approached me and asked whether I had been talking about the Carter case.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that I had answered questions when asked. He said I should be careful about repeating things I didn't fully understand.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He didn't use words I could quote as a direct threat. He said that people who involved themselves in police matters sometimes damaged their own reputations. Then he asked whether I wanted my supervisor to hear that I had been interfering with a police investigation.”
Patricia paused.
“I was twenty-nine years old. I needed my job. My mother depended on me financially, and I had no savings. I told him I wouldn't discuss the matter with anyone else.”
“Did you keep a record of that conversation?”
“No. I went home and cried. The next day, I told myself that keeping quiet was the sensible thing to do.”
“Did you ever see him again?”
“Not personally. But after that conversation, I became convinced that someone was watching what I said. I can't prove that anyone was. I only know that I felt frightened enough to stop speaking.”
Marcus did not write down the word watching as a verified fact. Instead, he noted the reported conversation and Patricia's account of its effect on her.
That distinction mattered.
They were not there to turn every fear into an accusation. They were there to determine what had happened, what could be demonstrated, and what remained unknown.
When the interview concluded, Patricia signed the transcript acknowledgment and agreed to provide the originals for forensic examination, subject to a documented chain of custody. The office would scan the documents, record their physical condition, and return them once the originals were no longer needed.
As Marcus escorted her toward the reception area, she stopped beside the door.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly.”
“What happens if you discover that the people who should have protected David deliberately concealed what happened?”
“Then we follow the evidence wherever it leads. We determine who made which decisions, what they knew at the time, and whether those decisions violated the law or department policy.”
“And if it leads to people who are still powerful?”
“Then their position does not change our obligation to investigate.”
Patricia looked down at her handbag.
“I have heard promises before.”
“I understand.”
“No, I don't think you do.” She gave him a tired, almost apologetic smile. “But I hope you keep yours.”
Marcus watched her leave.
When he returned to the interview room, Elena had spread the documents across the table in chronological order.
“The statement, the letter, and her account of the parking-lot conversation give us three distinct events,” she said. “The original report, the follow-up inquiry, and the later warning from Keller.”
“Three events that need independent verification,” Marcus replied.
“Of course. But if the original statement was placed into a restricted file, the question becomes who had access to it and why.”
Marcus picked up the photocopy Margaret Lewis had supplied.