Part 5
Noah stayed down with one hand resting lightly against Ranger’s back. The dog did not tremble now. Every muscle in him had gone controlled and low, his training folded over his fear like a shield. Outside, the SUV idled long enough for Noah to count thirty slow seconds, then the radio crackled again and the driver pulled away toward the river road.
Noah did not move until the taillights vanished.
When he finally stood, the evidence bag felt heavier in his hand than any camera should have. Someone knew he was looking. Maybe not what he had found, maybe not where he was standing, but enough to put an unmarked vehicle outside an abandoned terminal after dark. Enough to say his name.
He took Ranger out through the rear gap in the fence and drove away without headlights until he reached the first working streetlamp. Only then did he pull over behind a closed tire shop and call Jenna.
“You need to stop calling me,” she said, but fear had already sharpened her voice.
“I found Ward’s body camera.”
The line went quiet.
“At Riverton Freight,” Noah continued. “Hidden in the west loading bay. Someone was just outside looking for me.”
“Please tell me you didn’t bring it to the precinct.”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t.”
Noah looked at Ranger in the rearview mirror. The dog was sitting upright, eyes on the road behind them. “Can you verify the unit number without flagging the system?”
“I can try.” Jenna’s breathing grew uneven. “Noah, the official inventory says Caleb’s camera was lost in field conditions and unrecoverable. If you found it there, somebody lied from the first report forward.”
“I need an outside contact.”
“County prosecutor’s office. Ask for Kendra Bell. She used to handle officer-involved corruption cases before she moved into major crimes. She won’t spook easily.”
“Will she take evidence from a cop who found it after hours at an unsecured scene?”
“She’ll hate the chain of custody,” Jenna said. “But if the contents are what I think they are, she’ll hate the alternative more.”
By morning, Noah had slept less than an hour. He met Jenna in the parking lot of a twenty-four-hour diner on the edge of town, where the coffee was burnt and the waitress knew better than to ask police officers why they looked like they had brought weather indoors. Jenna slid into the booth wearing a hoodie and no makeup, her hair pulled back, a folder tucked under one arm.
She did not touch the evidence bag. She only looked at the label through the plastic and closed her eyes briefly.
“That’s his,” she said.
“You’re sure?”
“I assigned the camera numbers when K-9 got their new units. C.W. 214. Caleb complained because the clip stuck. He made jokes about it for a week.”
Noah set his jaw. “Can it be recovered?”
“Maybe. Not by me. Not by anyone in our building.” She opened the folder and pushed one sheet across the table. “I found the final report. The public summary says Caleb left duty pending review. The internal incident log says something else.”
Noah read the line she had highlighted.
Handler separated from K-9 at west loading bay. Supervisor ordered animal removal after repeated failed recall.
“Separated,” Noah said. “That’s a strange word.”
“It gets worse.” Jenna tapped the second page. “Voss signed the incident report, the retirement paperwork, the shelter release, and the denial of Mrs. Ward’s request for records.”
Noah looked up. “All of it?”
“All of it.”
His phone buzzed before he could answer. Lieutenant Paul Voss’s name appeared on the screen.
Jenna’s face tightened. “Don’t.”
Noah answered anyway.
“Mercer,” Voss said, calm as a man discussing schedules. “My office. Ten minutes.”
“I’m off duty.”
“You were seen with a retired department animal last night. That makes it departmental.”
Noah’s eyes moved to Ranger through the diner window. The dog sat in the cruiser, watching the street. “I’ll be there.”
Voss’s office smelled of leather chairs and old coffee. He did not invite Noah to sit. The lieutenant stood behind his desk with both hands resting on the polished edge, his uniform pressed so sharply it seemed designed to cut off questions before they formed.
“You’ve had a difficult year,” Voss said.
Noah said nothing.
“Delaney’s death took a toll. Everyone understands that. But grief has a way of making a man see patterns where there are only unfortunate facts.”
“There’s a dog at the county shelter with a message carved into his collar.”
“A traumatized animal with a damaged tag.”
“Caleb Ward didn’t abandon him.”
Voss’s eyes cooled. “Caleb Ward was unstable.”
“No. He was inconvenient.”
For a moment the room showed its real temperature. Voss walked around the desk slowly, stopping close enough that Noah could smell the mint on his breath.
“Be careful,” the lieutenant said. “You’re not in K-9. You’re not assigned to Ward’s old case. And that dog is not yours.”
“No,” Noah said. “He belonged to Caleb.”
Voss smiled without warmth. “Past tense matters.”
Noah left before anger made him careless. He was halfway down the hall when his phone vibrated with a text from Jenna. No words. Just a scanned departmental request routed to Animal Services.
Release retired K-9 Ranger to Riverton PD representative for final disposition. Signed: Lt. Paul Voss. Pickup time: 3:00 p.m. Noah looked at the clock on the wall. 2:41…
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