Page 9 of Logan’s Way

Angus’s pulse didn’t change, but his attention sharpened. “What is?”

“The index shows the certificate, but I’m not finding the source file. It should be cross-referenced automatically.” Morrison clicked through several screens, her movements becoming less certain. “The transfer log from Thornfield County should have the original documentation attached—the ME report, the filing log, the registrar signature page. All of it.”

“But it’s not there?”

“No, it…” Morrison paused, then picked up her phone and dialed an extension. “Hey, Mark? It’s Kelsey. Can you check something for me? I’ve got a certificate index from 2014, Thornfield County, but the source file isn’t linking. Certificate number…” She read off the number from Angus’s paper. There was a pause while she listened. “Yeah, that’s what I’m seeing too. Okay, thanks.”

She hung up and gave Angus an apologetic look. “My supervisor’s confirming, but it appears the source documentation didn’t transfer with the index entry. Which is unusual.”

“How unusual?”

“It doesn’t really happen. When a county transfers records, the whole file comes together—death certificate, supporting documents, everything. The system won’t let you index a certificate without the supporting file attached. It’s a check against incomplete records.”

Angus kept his expression neutral. “Could it be misfiled? Under a different county maybe?”

Morrison shook her head slowly. “The index is very specific. It’s tagged to Thornfield County, dated March 2014, with that certificate number. If the source file had been misfiled, the index wouldn’t have processed. The system would have flagged it as incomplete.”

“What about sealed records? Could it have been restricted for some reason?”

“We’d see that in the system. There would be a notation—sealed by court order, privacy restriction, whatever. This just shows…” She gestured at her screen. “Nothing. Like the supporting documentation never existed.”

But it had to exist. Murphy had seen it. Angus had read it. The autopsy report, the death certificate—all of it had come from somewhere. Someone had created those documents and had filed them through official channels.

“Could the file have been purged?” Angus asked. “Maybe there’s a retention limit?”

“Not for something this recent. We keep vital records indefinitely. And even if there had been a purge for some administrative reason, there would be a log entry showing when and why.” Morrison typed again, searching. “There’s nothing. No seal notation, no purge record, no indication the file ever existed beyond this index entry.”

A door opened behind the reception area, and a man in his fifties emerged—Morrison’s supervisor, presumably. He carried a folder and wore the expression of someone who’d just confirmed something he didn’t particularly like.

“Mark Rivera,” he said, introducing himself to Angus. “Records Manager. Kelsey said you’re asking about a 2014 certificate from Thornfield?”

“That’s right. I’m trying to verify the filing information.”

Rivera set his folder on the counter. “I pulled the transfer log from Thornfield County for that quarter—March through May 2014. There are thirty-seven death certificates listed as transferred during that period.”

“And Logan Reid is one of them?”

“Yes. The certificate number matches what you’ve got there.” Rivera opened the folder, showing Angus a printout of the transfer log—rows of names, dates, certificate numbers. Logan’s name was there, third from the top. “The index entry is legitimate. It was processed and accepted by our system in June 2014, when Thornfield did their quarterly transfer.”

“But the source file is missing.”

“Correct.” Rivera’s tone was carefully professional. “Which shouldn’t be possible. Our intake protocol requires physical verification of all supporting documentation before an index entry is finalized. Someone reviews the file, confirms all signatures and seals are present, then enters it into the system.”

“Could that person have made a mistake? Indexed it without the file?”

“The system won’t allow it. It’s designed specifically to prevent incomplete records. You can’t finalize an index entry without attaching the source file first.” Rivera paused, choosing his words. “What you’re describing—an index entry that exists without supporting documentation—would require someone to manually override the system.”

The implications of that hung in the air. Morrison looked uncomfortable. Rivera maintained a professional neutrality, but his eyes showed he understood exactly what he was saying.

“Is that something that happens?” Angus asked quietly.

“No.” Rivera’s answer was firm. “Overriding the system requires supervisor credentials and an administrative code. It’s only used in exceptional circumstances—court orders, security classifications, that kind of thing. And even then, it generates a log entry that explains why the override was necessary.”

“Is there a log entry for this one?”

Rivera shook his head. “None that I can find. Which means either the log was deleted, or the override was done through back-channel access that bypassed normal logging protocols.”

Morrison shifted uncomfortably. “Mark, should we⁠—”