Chapter 12 Detective Arthur
Adrian released the Detective General's hand, but his eyes lingered briefly on the watch beneath the man's shirt cuff.
Something about it felt familiar.
The Detective General noticed him looking and smiled.
"You like watches, Detective?"
Adrian looked up.
"It's a nice watch, sir."
The older man glanced at his wrist before adjusting his cuff.
"Thank you. It was a gift from a friend."
"It suits you."
"Thank you."
Adrian let the conversation end there. If the watch meant nothing, another question would only seem out of place. If it meant something, he doubted the answer would come from asking the man wearing it.
He slipped the rejected Blue File request back into its envelope.
"I appreciate your time, sir."
The Detective General nodded.
"I meant what I said, Detective."
"I know."
"I hope you'll give it some thought."
"I will."
The Detective General walked around the desk and opened the office door.
"Have a good afternoon."
"You too, sir."
Adrian stepped into the corridor.
As he walked away from the administrative wing, the watch lingered in the back of his mind, but only briefly. Another question quickly pushed it aside.
The Blue File.
He stopped near a window overlooking the station's parking lot and unfolded the rejection letter once more.
The decision had been made the very afternoon he submitted his request.
Victor Hayes had been certain that requests for access to the Blue File passed through several levels of approval and usually took days to process.
His had barely left police headquarters before it was rejected.
Adrian folded the letter carefully. That wasn't normal. He retraced the process in his mind.
The request hadn't gone directly to the Annual Community Trust Foundation. It had first passed through official police channels before being forwarded.
Which meant someone inside the department had known exactly what he was asking for.
Did that mean someone within the police force had known about his request long before the rejection reached his desk?
The thought unsettled him more than the rejection itself.
If the investigation had been compromised, it was happening much closer than he had imagined.
He slipped the envelope under his arm and headed downstairs.
If the Foundation wasn't prepared to give him answers, perhaps Michael Donovan had already left some behind.
---
By the time Adrian reached his office, the afternoon bustle had begun to fade.
He unlocked the door, stepped inside and crossed straight to the wall safe beside the filing cabinet.
Inside, resting exactly where he had left it, was the worn brown file Henry Lawson had entrusted to him.
He placed it on the desk and opened it.
The first few pages contained Michael Donovan's handwritten notes. They were neat, methodical and free of unnecessary speculation. Dates, names and observations filled the margins, each one supported by evidence or witness statements.
A faint smile crossed Adrian's face.
Michael investigated the same way he did—patiently, logically and without jumping to conclusions.
As he continued reading, something caught his attention.
More than once, Michael referred to official reports that weren't included in the file. There were references to reassignment orders, departmental memoranda and personnel documents, but none of them were there.
Adrian leaned back.
Henry had never claimed this was Michael Donovan's complete file. It was simply the working file Michael had kept with him. The official reports and departmental records would still belong to the police.
If they still existed, there was only one place they would be.
The police archives.
Adrian checked the time.
The records office would still be open.
He returned the file to the safe, locked it carefully and left his office.
---
The records archive occupied one of the quieter corners of headquarters. Officers rarely came there unless they needed old case files or departmental records.
A civilian records clerk looked up as Adrian approached the counter.
"Good afternoon, Detective."
"Afternoon."
"I'm looking for the official records relating to Detective Michael Donovan."
The clerk frowned.
"Personnel file or case records?"
"Both, if they're available."
After Adrian signed the register, the clerk disappeared into the archive.
Several minutes later, he returned carrying two ageing archive boxes.
"These are all the departmental records we still have."
"Thank you."
Adrian carried the boxes to a nearby reading table.
The first box contained routine personnel records. He worked through them patiently, but nothing stood out.
The second box held Michael Donovan's official investigation records.
Again, Adrian started at the beginning instead of skipping ahead. Experience had taught him that the smallest details were often buried inside the pages everyone else ignored.
Halfway through the file, a typed document caught his attention.
Case Reassignment Order.
He pulled it from the folder and read it twice.
Only one sentence mattered.
Case No. H-1478 is hereby reassigned from Detective Arthur Cole to Detective Michael Donovan following Detective Cole's death. This reassignment takes effect immediately upon approval of the Homicide Division Commander.
Adrian frowned.
The name meant nothing to him.
Yet Michael had inherited an investigation from this man without mentioning him anywhere in the personal file Henry Lawson had given him.
He carried the document back to the counter.
"I need Detective Arthur Cole's personnel file."
The clerk adjusted his glasses and searched the database.
Few seconds passed.
He searched again using only the surname before opening a second database.
Finally, he leaned back.
"That's odd."
Adrian remained silent.
"There isn't a Detective Arthur Cole in our personnel records."
"What about retired officers?"
"I searched every category."
"Former detectives?"
The clerk shook his head.
"Nothing. No service record, transfer history, retirement file or death notification."
Adrian looked at the reassignment order again.
It wasn't an informal memorandum. It was an official case reassignment signed by the Homicide Division Commander. Documents like this weren't created casually.
He looked back at the clerk.
"If this order is genuine, Detective Arthur Cole should have a personnel file."
The clerk glanced at the screen one last time before shaking his head.
"But he doesn't."
Adrian lowered his eyes to the document.
The reference number and letterhead was genuine.
The commander's signature was authentic.
The reassignment order was real.
Which meant only one of two things.
Either the police department had reassigned a homicide investigation to a detective who never existed, or someone had erased every trace that he ever did.
