The Second Night We Waited For The Warehouse Lights

On Monday, I paid attorney Ada Sloan $350 to read Rocco's claim.

She read the service agreement first.

“Good,” she said.

“The lawsuit?”

“The initials beside the warranty terms.”

She had a small office near the courthouse, with a window facing a brick wall. No framed promises. Just a clock I could hear while she worked.

Rocco claimed I had taken company property, copied private records, and cost him a $36,000 shipment. His request for a temporary order demanded every copy of my service file.

The hearing was Wednesday morning.

“We respond with the agreement, the police receipt, and your full notes,” Ada said. “We also ask that your records be preserved. You don't give his lawyer a box in a parking lot.”

She offered to handle the hearing for another $900, split into three payments.

I signed. Then I went home and canceled a part order I could no longer afford.

For Ada, I numbered every page in my folder. The agreement came first, then the work order, then the evidence receipt. I included the emails about canceled jobs. When she called with a question, I could give her a page instead of trying to speak through my anger.

Ellis called that afternoon. He asked if Ada could receive documents from the county lawyer.

“Talk to her,” I said. “I keep thinking a wrong word will cost another thousand dollars.”

“Then I'll keep my words short.”

“That sounded expensive too.”

He laughed softly. I could picture his missing button.

Baird had confirmed that the image export came from Shaw's office computer. Its door record placed him there at the same time. She was now checking outside contact and financial records through the proper orders.

“Does he know?” I asked.

“He's been removed from evidence access. The rest is Baird's work.”

I wound the wren after we hung up. This time its beak clicked twice and stuck.

I had filed the wrong tooth.

For ten minutes, I wanted to throw it against the wall. Instead, I put it in a tin and went to sleep.

Tuesday brought search orders for the charity warehouse and the Mebane storage unit. The searches would happen together. I was called to stand by for printer identification once the warehouse was secure.

Until then, I waited with Ellis in a car across from the warehouse entrance. Cole was with the search team. Ellis had the shipping records on his knee and a radio near his hand.

It was nearly ten. The air smelled of wet leaves when he lowered his window.

“You can wait at home,” he said.

“Then I'll stare at my phone.”

He adjusted the seat so I had more room.

“Here you can stare at a warehouse.”

I held the tin in my lap.

“Bad night for the assistant?” he asked.

I showed him the wren.

“I rushed something.”

“Can it be fixed?”

“With a new gear. I should have stopped when I was tired.”

He nodded as if that was useful advice.

For a while, we watched the empty gate. I asked what he did when a case ended.

“Laundry. Call my mother. Remember there's a world beyond forms.”

“Does she remind you?”

“Every Sunday. I let it ring once so she thinks I have plans.”

He smiled, but I heard the lonely part under it.

“You could answer on the first ring,” I said.

“I could.”

A van pulled up to the gate. Rocco got out in a pale jacket. He punched the old code, tried again, then called someone.

Ellis picked up the radio.

The van waited. Its lights shone through the fence onto the shut dock door. I watched Rocco put one hand against the bars. He looked smaller at that distance.

Another car arrived. Two officers spoke to him. Ellis told me to stay in our car and went to meet Cole.

No one ran. Nobody shouted. An officer took Rocco's phone after showing him a document.

Forty minutes later, Cole came for me.

Eleven cartons stood behind a wall of donated folding beds. Officers opened them one at a time while Mara checked her list. Under the broad FRD labels, factory plates showed the children's center's serial numbers.

I identified my repaired printer by its machine plate and the service sticker I had applied. Cole photographed both.

“These monitors won't go straight into nurseries,” Mara told Ruth. “They'll all be tested first.”

Ruth pressed both hands over her mouth.

I wanted to ask about the other seven. Ellis was still on the phone when I left.

At home, I set the broken wren beside my court folder.

Ada had sent the final exhibit list for the morning. Beneath Rocco's signed agreement was a new document from his lawyer.

It was his sworn statement: the printer had never printed Alder's original serial numbers.