Caleb didn't like being called in late.
It wasn't the time exactly. It was the implication that something routine had been allowed to drift long enough to become irregular. That usually meant paperwork had been skimmed instead of read, or a box had been checked because it always was.
He set his bag down on the table in the municipal records room and took out a slim folder of his own. He hadn't been asked to bring it. He had anyway.
The room was narrow, lit by overhead fluorescents that hummed faintly. Filing cabinets lined the walls, labeled in neat handwriting that had outlived the people who wrote it.
Robert Mercer stood near the window, hands clasped behind his back. Vince took a chair at the table, notebook closed in front of him.
Caleb nodded to both of them. "I was told there were questions."
"Clarifications," Robert said.
Caleb accepted that without comment. He opened the folder.
"County Road Six," he said. "Drainage, culvert integrity, usage reports."
"You've been through it before," Robert said.
"Yes."
Vince watched Caleb as he spoke. There was no defensiveness in his tone. No hesitation. He wasn't bracing for accusation.
Caleb flipped a page. "The culvert was flagged for inspection eight years ago. Minor erosion. Nothing structural."
"And after that," Vince said.
"Routine follow-ups," Caleb replied. "Every two years. No changes noted."
Robert turned from the window. "But it's been used."
Caleb looked up. "Used how."
"Recently."
Caleb considered the word. "Recently is relative."
Vince leaned back slightly. "Enough to matter."
Caleb nodded once, then turned back to the folder. "I reviewed the access logs."
"Which logs," Robert asked.
"Maintenance vehicle logs. County trucks. Private contractors." He slid a sheet across the table. "No anomalies."
Vince studied the paper. Dates. Times. Signatures. Everything in order.
"What about non-official access," Vince asked.
Caleb paused. "There's no formal way to track that."
"But," Vince said.
"But," Caleb continued, "there are indicators."
He reached into his bag and removed a photograph. He placed it on the table carefully, aligning it with the edge.
Tire tracks. Dry mud. The faint impression of tread worn shallow.
"These aren't county vehicles," Caleb said. "Too light. Too inconsistent."
Robert frowned. "So people have been using it."
"Yes."
"How often," Vince asked.
Caleb hesitated. Not because he didn't know. Because the answer didn't fit cleanly.
"Enough that the ground didn't have time to settle."
Silence followed.
Robert picked up the photograph, studied it. "Why wasn't this flagged."
Caleb met his eyes. "Because it didn't meet criteria."
"Criteria for what."
"For failure."
Vince looked at Caleb. "But not for presence."
Caleb nodded slowly. "Presence isn't something we document unless it causes damage."
Robert set the photograph down. "What about the truck."
Caleb didn't respond immediately. He flipped to another page.
"That vehicle was never listed as missing," he said.
Vince felt something tighten in his chest. "It belonged to a missing person."
"Yes," Caleb said evenly. "But it wasn't reported stolen or abandoned. It remained registered, insured, and operational."
"And you saw it," Vince said.
Caleb glanced up. "I logged it."
"When."
"Six years ago."
Robert's head snapped up. "You're sure."
Caleb nodded. "Routine roadside assessment. It was parked legally. No violation."
Vince stared at him. "Where."
"Near the service road. North end." Caleb frowned slightly. "I remember because the engine was warm."
The room went still.
"You didn't report that," Robert said.
"There was nothing to report," Caleb replied. "The vehicle wasn't flagged. The owner wasn't present, but that's not uncommon."
Vince spoke carefully. "Did you ask anyone about it."
Caleb shook his head. "It wasn't my role."
Robert exhaled slowly. "And after that."
Caleb turned another page. "It appeared intermittently. Different locations. Always compliant."
Vince leaned forward now. "You're saying it was being used."
"Yes."
"By who."
Caleb met his gaze. "That was never recorded."
Robert rubbed his temple. "But you noticed."
"Yes."
"And you didn't think—"
Caleb interrupted gently. "I thought it was handled."
The word settled heavily.
"Handled how," Vince asked.
Caleb hesitated again. "Because no one escalated it."
Vince nodded. "And escalation requires—"
"A request," Caleb finished. "Or a violation."
Robert straightened. "And there were none."
"No," Caleb said. "There weren't."
The hum of the lights seemed louder now.
Vince picked up the photograph again. "You said these tracks weren't official."
"Yes."
"But they were consistent."
Caleb studied the image. "Yes."
"Consistent how."
"Same vehicle. Same weight class." He paused. "Same route."
Robert looked away.
"Which route," Vince asked.
Caleb didn't answer immediately. He closed the folder.
"The one that avoids town."
Vince felt the shape of it then. Not the truth. The outline around it.
"You didn't hide anything," Vince said.
Caleb shook his head. "No."
"You did your job."
"Yes."
"And that was enough."
Caleb didn't respond.
Robert walked back to the window. Outside, the street looked unchanged. People moved past with groceries, with mail, with nowhere in particular to be.
"This is going to come up," Robert said.
Caleb nodded. "It already has."
Vince stood. "You ever think about what happens between inspections."
Caleb looked at him. "That's not measurable."
"But it happens."
"Yes," Caleb said quietly. "It does."
They stood there for a moment longer. Then Caleb gathered his things.
"For what it's worth," he said, pausing at the door, "nothing was missing."
Vince watched him leave.
After the door closed, Robert said, "That might be the problem."
Vince nodded. "It is."
Outside, the hum of town life continued. Cars passed. Doors opened and closed. Somewhere, an engine turned over and didn't move.
What hadn't been missing had been allowed to stay.