“No.”
Aaron’s voice was firmer this time.
“You’re trying to make everything you already did look justified.”
Derek stopped walking.
“You want to be part of this or not?”
“I already am.”
They stared at each other.
Derek pressed the button.
The trunk opened.
A single matte-black metal case sat in the center of the otherwise empty compartment. Numbered tamper seals crossed both latches, and evidence tape ran along the edges. A white label on the top displayed the Cedar Ridge County seal.
Aaron leaned closer without touching it.
CEDAR RIDGE COUNTY SHERIFF TRANSITION INTEGRITY REVIEW — RESTRICTED
Derek stared.
For the first time, relief briefly replaced anger.
He believed he had found the answer that would transform the previous half hour from a series of questionable decisions into excellent police instinct.
“What the hell is this?”
Maya stood cuffed beside his SUV.
“I told you not to open the trunk.”
“You’re carrying restricted county documents.”
Maya said nothing.
“Where did you get them?”
“The control number is on the seal.”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I am telling you how to verify the answer.”
Aaron stepped closer.
“We should run the control number before we open anything.”
Derek looked irritated.
“This could be stolen.”
“It could also be authorized.”
Maya watched the exchange.
“Verify it.”
Derek placed his fingers beneath the evidence tape.
Maya’s voice changed slightly.
“Do not break that seal until you know what you’re handling.”
He looked toward her.
“Why?”
“Because once you do, you become responsible for the chain of custody.”
“What’s inside?”
“I’m not discussing restricted county material on a roadside.”
Derek smiled without humor.
“Convenient.”
Then he broke the seal.
Aaron muttered, “Damn it.”
The latches opened.
Inside were audit summaries, personnel-review packets, encrypted drives, internal complaint files, evidence-system reports, and individually sealed folders marked with sequential control numbers. Everything had been cataloged and packed with the deliberate precision of official material. Nothing about the case looked like stolen paperwork somebody had tossed into a trunk.
Derek opened the first folder.
Aaron said, “Stop.”
Derek ignored him.
His eyes moved across several pages.
Then stopped.
Aaron saw the color leave his face.
“What?”
Derek closed the folder too quickly.
“Nothing.”
Maya knew that meant the opposite.
Derek opened another packet.
Halfway down the second page he found his own name.
DEREK MADDOX
The entries beneath it referenced an unresolved evidence discrepancy, an excessive-force complaint, and a traffic report that had undergone unexplained supervisory modification. None of those entries proved Derek guilty of anything. They proved only that somebody conducting the transition review believed the incidents deserved another look.
That nuance did not matter to Derek.
He looked toward Maya.
“Where did you get this?”
“The control number.”
“Who are you?”
“You have my driver’s license.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Maya remained silent.
Derek closed the case.
“You’re being detained for unlawful possession of restricted county property.”
Aaron stared at him.
“We haven’t established it’s unlawful.”
“Her name isn’t on these files.”
“You haven’t checked the custody authorization.”
“We’ll do that downtown.”
A sedan pulled onto the shoulder fifty yards behind them.