Ranger's eyes opened.
For a moment, the old certainty returned.
Marcus felt it.
Then Ranger closed his eyes again.
The photograph stayed in Marcus's mind.
Harbor Street.
The seizure had been considered routine. A shipping container had arrived under a false manifest, and Ranger had alerted near the rear wall.
Officers found several packages of narcotics hidden inside.
The case was praised as a successful operation.
Ranger received most of the credit.
But now someone was telling Marcus that the dog had been detecting something else.
At 7:00 the next morning, Marcus returned to headquarters.
Captain Porter was waiting.
“You shouldn't be here.”
“I'm working.”
“You've been removed from active K9 duty pending the investigation.”
Marcus stared at her.
“Since when?”
“Since last night.”
“Who authorized it?”
“Internal review.”
“Because Ranger got hurt?”
“Because your report conflicts with Deputy Mercer's statement.”
Marcus laughed bitterly.
“Cole said the container fell. I said I heard something before it moved.”
Porter folded her hands.
“Marcus, listen to me. This department is under pressure.”
“From who?”
She didn't answer.
“Captain.”
“Go home.”
“I received a photograph.”
Porter's expression changed.
“What photograph?”
Marcus placed it on her desk.
She picked it up.
The color drained slightly from her face.
“You've seen it.”
“No.”
“Then why do you look frightened?”
Porter placed the photograph face down.
“Where did you get this?”
“Someone left it on my truck.”
“Did you show anyone?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Marcus leaned closer.
“Why?”
Before she could answer, the office door opened.
Tom Alvarez, the evidence clerk, stood there holding a folder.
“Captain, I need your signature.”
Porter immediately covered the photograph.
Tom noticed.
His eyes moved from Porter to Marcus.
Then he looked away.
“Later,” Porter said.
Tom left.
Marcus followed him into the hallway.
“Tom.”
The evidence clerk stopped.
“What?”
“You processed the Harbor Street seizure.”
Tom hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Was anything unusual?”
Tom looked around.
“Not here.”
“Where?”
“Archive room. Ten minutes.”
Marcus followed him downstairs.
Tom opened a cabinet and removed a thin evidence envelope.
“There were supposed to be twelve containers listed,” Tom said.
Marcus frowned.
“How many arrived?”
“Eleven.”
“And the report says twelve?”
“Yes.”
“Where's the missing one?”
Tom's face tightened.
“That is the problem.”
He opened the folder.
The inventory sheet had been altered.
One container number had been crossed out.
“Who changed it?”
“I don't know.”
“You signed this.”
“I signed the original.”
Marcus stared at him.
Tom lowered his voice.
“Someone replaced the page.”
“Why didn't you report it?”
Tom looked frightened.
“Because the last person who asked questions was transferred.”
Marcus looked at the folder again.
“What was the missing container?”
Tom whispered the number.
“HS-17.”
Marcus remembered the photograph.
Ranger's nose had been pressed against the rear wall of a container.
Not the one where officers found narcotics.
Another one.
HS-17.
Before Marcus could speak, footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Tom closed the cabinet.
“Go.”
“Tom—”
“Go now.”
Marcus stepped into the corridor.
Deputy Cole Mercer stood at the far end.