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I cringe, hearing the sound of irritation in my voice.
“The dates on the arrest report don’t make sense. They say he was arrested on the ninth but he was detained on the seventh. There’s not much the DA can do if they’re wrong. The case will get thrown out on the first day of the trial. It may not even make it to trial.”
“I’ll get the corrections in. What was the case number again?”
It’s the clerk’s turn to sigh in annoyance, but thankfully, she relays the information once again.
When I get off the phone, Eastyn is standing in the doorway of my office. She’s always a little early, but I beat her in today, after my soul-crushing stop at Adalynn’s house this morning.
“Early calls?” she asks.
“The courthouse. Wrong dates. Again.”
She takes a few steps closer. “Chandler?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “This one is from last year.”
“I can make corrections and get the new report back to them. He’s doing better. I showed him an easier way to complete the reports.”
I give her a weak smile before handing over the slip of paper I jotted the notes down on.
I make my own fair share of mistakes, so I never ride his ass too hard, but fielding the calls from the district attorney’s office never sits well with me. As the chief, all mistakes fall on my shoulders, but I barely have the time to keep up with my own reports. I’ve never been the type of guy who wanted to micromanage anyone.
“You heard about his dad?”
She nods, a sad smile on her face.
“You’re not going to fire him, are you?”
I shake my head. “There isn’t anyone sane enough to take his place. The job is boring most days, and the pay is awful. He’s a good guy. I just have to check up on him a little more often, I think.”
“I’ll set up a checks and balances with him and make sure his reports are clean before he submits anything outside of the office.”
“I appreciate that, Eastyn.”
The guy means well, but there are repercussions to our mistakes. Although we don’t have many hardened criminals in town, we need to make sure that the cases we do send for prosecution are good.
“What do we do for him?”
“I think the checks and balances are—”
“I mean since his father passed away,” she interrupts. “Do we send food?”
“Do you cook?” I ask, knowing the man wouldn’t be interested in a sandwich or a bowl of cereal.
Her nose scrunches up. “My meals are delivered by Riley Wilson’s catering company. I can’t help with this.”
“Really?” That sounds extremely expensive, but it’s not my place to judge where people spend their money.
“She makes the best lasagna. The mushroom gravy she uses with her pork chops is a little spicy for me, though. Oh!” she says snapping her fingers. “You know what he’d like? Those chocolate chip cookie dough cupcakes that Adalynn makes.”
“I don’t know if—”
My words fall away when my cell phone chimes.
I don’t even have to look at my phone to know what the alert is. The notification alerts from the app has a very distinct sound.
Eastyn looks from me to my phone on my desk, but I know she can’t see anything with the privacy screen on it. The look in her eyes tells me that she’s familiar with the app.
