An Internal Flag on Record

The printer kept spitting out pages, one after another, while nobody spoke.

Karen stood by the counter with her hands loose at her sides. The cuffs were off, but her wrists still had a red line in them. Through the front window, the tow truck sat in the lot with her red Ducati strapped on the bed, bright in the sun like it had never been touched.

Linda Mercer took the pages from the tray and squared them on the desk. Her eyes moved fast, then stopped. She looked at the screen again, then back at the papers.

“Sheriff,” she said, “you need to look at this.”

Dale Kavalik was halfway to the doorway. He stopped like he’d hit a wall, then turned slow. His hand went to his belt, not the holster this time, just the habit. “What now?”

Linda didn’t answer right away. She clicked once with the mouse, and the monitor changed. “The transfer record is valid. The registration is valid. The bike’s VIN matches the title and the estate release.”

Karen kept her face still. “That was the question from the start.”

Kavalik looked at her, then at Linda. “I told you to check the plate.”

“I did.” Linda tapped the paper with one finger. “And I checked the owner history.”

Deputy Halverson was staring at the floor tiles. He shifted his weight from one boot to the other.

Karen heard the old station clock ticking over the hum of the vents. She could smell copier toner and the flowers on the desk, warm and a little sweet.

Linda swallowed once. “There’s an internal flag on the stop report.”

Kavalik’s mouth tightened. “What flag?”

Linda turned the screen so he could see it better. “Mandatory supervisor review. And the name tied to the unit number is yours.”

Nobody moved.

Karen watched Kavalik’s face go flat, then gray around the mouth. “That’s not possible.”

“It is on the screen,” Linda said. “And it logged when the tow was called in.”

Karen looked at the tow truck through the glass, then back to the desk. “Before the ownership check.”

Halverson made a small sound in his throat. He didn’t look up.

Kavalik snapped, “Who entered that?”

Linda’s fingers stayed on the keyboard. “The system did.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” she said. “It’s a record.”

The door opened behind them. Osei came in with a dark folder clutched to his chest, his eyes moving from Karen to the monitor to Kavalik. He stopped just inside the room, like he’d walked into a bad smell.

Karen knew him from the edge of the stop, the one who hadn’t talked much and had looked at the bike like he already understood there was trouble coming. Now he was pale under the fluorescent lights.

Kavalik pointed at him. “What do you know?”

Osei opened his mouth, then closed it. He glanced at Linda.

“Say it,” Kavalik said.

Osei gripped the folder harder. “The alert hits county oversight if that report stays in place.”

Linda gave him a short nod, still watching the screen.

Karen turned her head toward the window again. The truck outside still had her bike on it. The straps were tight across the tank.

Linda reached for the next page and said, very quietly, “Sheriff, look again.”