Chapter 5 - Lieutenant PriceNolan Price arrived at headquarters at 6:40 the next morning.
Not arrested.
Not summoned formally.
Commander Ross told him there was a security review.
He came angry.
“What happened to my access?”
Ross said:
“Temporary lockout.”
“Why?”
“Credential anomaly.”
Price looked at Graham.
That was enough to tell him the case involved him.
“You think I leaked something.”
Graham answered:
“I think your credentials were used.”
Price stared.
“Where?”
“Can’t discuss details yet.”
“You’re discussing enough to insult me.”
Keene sat across from him.
“We need your department-issued phone and laptop.”
“No.”
Ross’s face hardened.
“Nolan.”
“I want union counsel.”
“Fair.”
“And an attorney.”
“Also fair.”
Price looked at Graham.
“You requested my unit logs yesterday.”
Graham said nothing.
“So that’s it.”
Price laughed.
“You’ve been building toward me.”
“No.”
“You think I’m Shepherd.”
Graham’s expression changed only slightly.
Price saw it.
“What the hell is Shepherd?”
Interesting.
Maybe performance.
Maybe genuine.
After counsel arrived, Price consented to device imaging under administrative process while preserving legal objections.
His phone showed nothing obvious.
Laptop clean.
But authentication records showed Price’s credentials used remotely on six dates linked to robberies.
Every time Price claimed he was elsewhere.
Could be lies.
Could be stolen credentials.
One location was impossible to fake easily.
The night of the surgeon robbery, Price was attending his daughter’s college graduation in Providence.
Photographs.
Hotel receipts.
Dozens of witnesses.
Yet his account searched the victim from a Hartford terminal.
Someone used his login locally.
“How?” Keene asked.
Price looked furious.
“I don’t know.”
“Password sharing?”
“No.”
“Written anywhere?”
“No.”
“Token?”
“Hardware.”
“Where?”
“Usually clipped to my ID.”
“Ever missing?”
Price paused.
That mattered.
“When?”
“Two months ago.”
“How long?”
“Maybe a day.”
“Report it?”
“No.”
Graham stared.
Price looked defensive.
“I thought I left it in my locker.”
“Did you?”
“It reappeared.”
“Where?”
“Desk drawer.”
“Who has office access?”
“Half command staff.”
“Names.”
Price listed them.
One stood out.
Sergeant Miles Ketter.
South district desk supervisor.
Forty-four.
The same general age Veda described.
Graham asked:
“Did Ketter work the night of the surgeon robbery?”
Price frowned.
“Yes.”
“Desk?”
“Until eleven.”
Keene and Graham exchanged a glance.
Veda had gone to South district six months earlier and asked about anonymous reporting.
Ketter might have been the man she spoke with.
Still not enough.
Then Price said:
“What did he do?”
Graham ignored.
“When did Ketter start in your command?”
“Three years ago.”
“Background?”
“Patrol. Auto theft unit before that.”
There.
Auto theft.
Graham asked:
“Connection to Caleb Wren?”
Price’s face changed.
“Why are you asking?”
“You knew Wren.”
“He trained me.”
“Ketter?”
Price thought.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Ketter was in Wren’s last rookie class before retirement.”
Two men.
Same mentor.
Dead officer’s identity used in crypto routing.
Price’s credentials used in target searches.
Ketter positioned between both.
Graham’s pulse increased.
Still maybe planted.
Keene asked:
“How close are you and Ketter?”
“Not close.”
“Problems?”
Price laughed.
“Now?”
“Historically.”
Price leaned back.
“Five years ago, I wrote him up.”
“For?”
“Evidence handling.”
Graham went still.
“Serious?”
“Should have been.”
“What happened?”
“Property from impounded vehicles went missing.”
“Charges?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Couldn’t prove who took it.”
“Then why write him?”
“Procedure violations.”
“Who defended him?”
Price looked embarrassed.
“Caleb Wren.”
Retired at the time.
Wren had written a letter describing Ketter as honest and suggesting Price was pursuing a personal grudge.
The investigation died.
Graham asked:
“Did Ketter blame you?”
“Yes.”
“Enough to frame you?”
Price stared.
“You tell me.”
They pulled Ketter’s schedule.
He was currently on duty.
South district.
Keene wanted him isolated immediately.
Graham stopped her.
“Not yet.”
She frowned.
“If he’s leaking—”
“If.”
“We have enough.”
“No.”
Graham looked at the accumulating trail.
Ketter.
Wren.
Price credentials.
South desk.
Auto theft history.
Too clean now.
“Someone wants us moving fast.”
Keene sighed.
“You think Ketter is another frame.”
“I think we should find evidence he doesn’t know we can see.”
Simone joined remotely from an external laptop.
“I have something.”
They had traced the crypto account using Caleb Wren’s dead identity.
Initial account creation occurred fourteen months ago.
Identity verification included a selfie.
Not Caleb.
Image manipulation.
Face overlay.
But liveness metadata suggested a real person beneath.
Simone reversed some compression artifacts.
Partial original face emerged.
Male.
Mid-forties.
Dark hair.
A scar near left eyebrow.
Price stared at screen.
“That’s not Ketter.”
“Know him?”
Price moved closer.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Daniel Rusk.”
Graham frowned.
No current officer by that name.
Price continued.
“Former department contractor.”
“What kind?”
“IT systems.”
Keene went cold.
“When?”
“Six years. Left last year.”
“What systems?”
Price looked toward Graham.
“Database authentication.”
The leak might not require a corrupt cop at all.
May you like
It might require someone who built the doors cops used.
And Daniel Rusk had disappeared from department contracting only weeks before the first targeted robbery.
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