10. Harlan - The Rot
HARLAN - THE ROT
The precinct had been quiet that morning.
I should’ve taken that as a warning.
Instead, I holed up in my office, a cup of stale coffee at my side and half a dozen open files spread across my desk like a crime scene of negligence.
I didn't even know what I was looking for. I just… needed to understand. Because lately, nothing made sense, and I had two trauma counsellors' voices echoing in my mind.
November had bled into December, and Dane Loring was still free. With the violence and chaos at the scene, I still didn't understand how no evidence was found. The killer was obviously enraged, chaotic... but they were careful enough not to leave a print, finger or boot...
It had been brought to my attention that the system we were working in, the one I was supposed to lead, was broken. I heard what they were saying. But it was hard to believe.
I liked rules, evidence, proof, and a path to follow. The fiery blonde and the older-than-her-years brunette were anything but that...
So, I dug.
Old domestic disturbance calls. Assault reports that went nowhere. Charges dropped. Victims recanted. Officers filed half-assed reports and walked away without a second thought.
They all started piling up.
Bar fight. The woman had a black eye. Claimed it was from a stranger. The officer noted she kept glancing at the man beside her. No charges filed.
Teenager picked up with bruises on her ribs. Said she fell. Officer didn’t press for more information or follow up. Just dropped it..
A woman tried to file three reports. Each one "lost" before it reached intake.
Each folder weighed more than it should’ve.
I made a list. Columns of missed opportunities and failed follow-throughs.
Highlighted names that had surfaced more than once.
I didn’t know what I was going to do with it yet. But doing something felt better than nothing.
I stacked the incident reports into a mess that probably wouldn't make sense to anyone but me, then paused as one file caught my eye.
A domestic battery case from last fall. The victim was nineteen and reported a live-in boyfriend for repeated assaults. The officer on the scene failed to take a statement. No follow-up.
But scribbled at the bottom of the supplemental notes, added days later in shaky handwriting, was a name.
Remi Carter, trauma advocate, present during intake.
I blinked. Flipped to the next one. Different case, similar outcome. Another woman was injured. Another intake was buried in administrative apathy.
Remi’s name again.
Not as a cop. Not as a lawyer. Just… someone who showed up. Who stood beside the women when no one else did. Who spoke up when the victims couldn't.
She’d been there more than once. Holding someone’s hand in the waiting room. Pushing officers for a full statement, making herself an obstacle to neglect.
That quiet resolve of hers, I was starting to see it everywhere.
And Ava was there too, but in different, more subtle ways.
Like they had decided a long time ago that Remi was the shield and Ava was the quiet constant.
One stood in the line of fire while the other kept things going in the background.
Which, if I were being honest with myself, interested me.
It was like their personalities and demeanours were the opposite of the roles they took in their work.
.. their relationship. Ava was all fire and determination, but she was the steady, constant one who called for help while the steady, calm Remi took the brunt of the hits.
In all of my years, I had never met anyone like them, and that both intrigued and terrified me.
A knock came at my office door. Two soft raps, followed by the sound of the handle turning without invitation.
Her perfume caught the air, a mix of vanilla and something bitter. Erin Voss.
She leaned against the doorframe like she owned the place.
“Early start,” she said, stepping inside with two coffees in hand. She set one on my desk in front of me.
I didn’t reach for it.
I didn’t look up. “What do you need?”
“Thought maybe you could use something to cut through the fog,” she added. “Rough couple of weeks.”
“Not sure caffeine’s going to fix that,” I muttered, setting down another file.
She watched me with too much interest. “Still chasing ghosts?”
I didn’t answer.
She nodded toward the spread of folders. “You’re not going to find the answer in the past, Harlan.”
“We failed Sofia a long time before the night she died, Sergeant.”
“You don’t know that.”
I looked up. “Don’t I?”
Her voice softened, lips curving just enough. “You’ve got the whole damn station leaning on your shoulders. Pressure like that… it’ll eat you alive if you don’t let someone help carry the weight.”
I closed one folder and opened another, ignoring her train of thought. “Trying to understand where we keep falling short.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?” Her voice was teasing, light, with just enough edge to make my shoulders tense. “Come on, Harlan. You’re burning daylight. Those girls, no offence, some of them are just looking for attention. You know that.”
I looked up. What the fuck did she just say?
She smiled, mistaking my attention. Tilted her head like we were sharing a private joke. “I’m just saying, you can't dig too deep into the sob stories.”
I stared at her. At the woman whom I had once gone to without question.
At the features I was once attracted to, which now looked fake and forced.
Blonde hair that was too bright... too shiny.
Her brown eyes, which I had once thought were warm, now looked dead and cold.
Not one thing on her was out of place; she was the epitome of polished perfection. .. and I once admired that. But now...
Now, a different blonde was holding my attention, and I didn't know what to do with that.
Erin shifted, still smiling, but there was something else behind it now. Calculation. Maybe even a warning. “Remember when you weren’t afraid to let loose, Harlan?”
I turned. “That was before my father died. Before I had a town to answer to. And you should be calling me Chief Gray.”
Her smile thinned, but she didn’t back off. “We made a good team once.”
I let the silence stretch until it cracked.
“Not anymore,” I said.
Her face barely shifted, but the undercurrent of irritation cut through her polished surface.
I set my pen down, needing her to understand. “That was over when I took this job. You know that. I was very clear.”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it has to stay that way. You’re under a lot of pressure. It’s not a crime to want a little… relief.”
There it was. The game she played. Push, retreat, push again. I wasn’t biting.
“If that’s all, Sergeant.”
She held my gaze for a second too long before pushing off the desk and walking toward the door. “Suit yourself. Just thought I’d offer.”
She stopped at the threshold and looked over her shoulder. “Oh, by the way. You shouldn't be seen around Carter and Sinclair.”
I didn’t respond.
“They are trouble. You ask me, it’s only a matter of time before Ava drags someone else down with her.”
She left without waiting for a response.
I sat back in my chair, the silence swallowing me again.
The files in front of me blurred slightly as I exhaled. For a moment, I wondered if maybe I was chasing shadows. If maybe Erin was right.
But then I thought of Ava, blood on her hands, eyes burning with grief. Of Remi, watching everyone with that quiet weight like she already knew how this story ended.
Jack running to their aid without question because he knew that whatever side they were standing on was the right one.
I turned back to the files. To the evidence of everything we missed.
Worrying about what I would find the deeper I dug. Would the rot be found in just the old paperwork, or in the people wearing the badge beside me?
And the worst part?
I still needed a plan for what to do about it.