Chain of Custody

2025-06-17 · 3656 words

Margaret Tillman ate tuna on wheat at her desk. The bread was Kroger brand. The tuna was Bumble Bee, chunk light in water. She had taken mayonnaise packets from the cafeteria, which now kept them behind the counter.

The email arrived at 2:47 PM. It had been forwarded twice. First by Detective Ramirez to the prosecutor’s office, then by the prosecutor’s office to Evidence Management, then by Evidence Management to her. Each forward added a blue line and a timestamp. The original message was at the bottom. It said: “I would like to check on the status of my evidence kit please.”

Margaret checked the digital inventory. She typed 2019-447. The system took eleven seconds to respond. It always took eleven seconds. Kit #2019-447: Received 5/15/19. Location: D-19. Status: Retained. Last accessed: 5/15/19.

The evidence room spanned all four walls, labeled A through D. Thirty-two rows per wall.

She walked to Section D. The keypad beeped when she entered her code. It always beeped. Row 19 was at eye level. The box was white cardboard, 12” x 12” x 10”, manufactured by Bankers Box, model FEL0070308. She had written the label herself.

Inside were four evidence bags. The chain-of-custody form listed five items. The fifth item was the sexual assault evidence collection kit, manufactured by Sirchie, model SK0085.

The kit wasn’t in the box. It wasn’t in the corners either.

She removed each bag and placed it on the examination table. The table was stainless steel, 48” x 24”, with a slight decline toward a drain never connected to plumbing. She checked each corner of the box. Sometimes small items shifted during storage.

The kit was not there.

She returned the bags to the box. She checked box D-18. It contained two kits. One from 2017, one from 2018. She checked box D-20. It contained one kit from 2021. She checked D-19 again. Still four items.

At her desk, she opened the 2019 receiving log. It was a PDF. The file size was 247 MB because someone had scanned it at 600 DPI. On page 89, she found the entry. Date: 5/15/19. Time: 14:32. Item: SA Kit. Case: 2019-447. Received by: MT. Verified by: RM.

She did not remember who RM was.

The subject line read: “FW: FW: Evidence Inquiry - URGENT.” The word URGENT had been added by the prosecutor’s office. The original message had no subject line.

Margaret opened a reply window. She typed: “I am looking into this matter.” She deleted it. She typed: “The kit appears to be temporarily misplaced.” She deleted it.

The phone rang. The caller ID showed a 602 area code. She didn’t answer.

She opened her desk drawer for antacid. The bottle was empty. Next to it, another from a different brand—also expired, 2023.

At 3:47 PM, she began typing a new reply. “Thank you for your inquiry. I am currently locating the requested item and will provide an update shortly.”

She sent it.

The fluorescent light above her desk flickered. It had been scheduled for replacement in March 2024. It was now June 2025.

Margaret returned to the digital log. The system required two logins. First her network credentials, then her evidence management PIN. The PIN had to be changed every 90 days. She was on day 67.

She searched May 15, 2019. The entry showed:

The initials were typed. Most of the others were handwritten.

She opened the employee database. It ran on different software that took 23 seconds to load. She searched “RM” and set the date range to 2019. Three results:

She knew Ray Mitchell. He worked Tuesdays and Thursdays now. Used to work full-time before his wife got sick.

The bulletin board next to the printer had seventeen notices. The printer’s toner light was blinking. One from 2018 about hand washing. One from last Christmas about the cancelled potluck. In the middle, partially covered by a parking memo: the audit notice. May 30, 2025. All sections.

That was twelve days ago.

She checked her email. No audit reminder. Checked her physical inbox. A facilities request form, two equipment transfer forms, nothing about the audit. The audit coordinator was Cheryl Price. Cheryl had been out with shingles since May.

At 5:15, the office emptied. Evidence Management kept flex hours. Most people worked 6 to 3. Margaret worked 8 to 5. Thomas Lee worked 10 to 7, but he was in the south building.

The basement storage area required a different keycard. The reader beeped twice. Low battery. She made a mental note to submit a maintenance request. She had made the same mental note in April.

Overflow held 2017 through 2020. Organized by year, mostly. 2017 was mostly together. 2018 was mixed with 2019. 2020 was in two different areas because they’d run out of shelf space.

She started with the 2019 section. Fourteen boxes. She checked each label. No D-19. Found three D-section boxes: D-4, D-11, D-27. Opened them anyway. D-4 contained soil samples. D-11 contained two kits from 2018. D-27 was supposed to contain a kit but held only a chain-of-custody form and an empty evidence bag.

The fluorescent in the basement hummed higher than the one upstairs. The maintenance tag above it said OCT 2023.

She returned the boxes to their shelves. The D-27 discrepancy would need to be noted. Not today. The log for discrepancies was in the main office, and she’d already locked her desk.

Back upstairs, she washed her hands in the break room sink. The soap dispenser was empty. The backup soap was Irish Spring. Halved.

It was 6:45 when she locked the building. The parking lot held only her 2007 Honda Civic and a white van that had been there since February. Security said it belonged to the building. No one could say which department.

Tuesday, 8:03 AM. Margaret’s coffee was from yesterday’s pot. She’d reheated it twice.

She found the discrepancy binder. Last entry: March. She added D-27. Empty kit bag. No explanation.

She found the 2019 procedure manual in the bottom drawer, under old requisition forms. Page 16 explained the numbering conversion. Starting April 2019, all evidence would use the Unified Evidence Tracking System (UETS). Items received before April kept their original case numbers. Items received after April got UETS numbers.

Page 17 had been torn out. Page 18 covered holiday scheduling.

She opened UETS. The interface hadn’t been updated since 2019. Half the buttons led to error pages. She selected “Search by Date Range.” The system timed out. On the second attempt, it loaded.

May 15, 2019 showed five items. No kit. She printed the list. The printer jammed. She cleared it. Printed again. The toner was low. The page came out striped.

She tried the old system. It still ran. May 15, 2019 showed eight items. Different numbers. She printed this list too.

While waiting for the printer, she checked her email. Twenty-three new messages. Mostly automated.

She found the physical log book from May 2019 on the shelf above Cheryl’s empty desk. Opened to May 15. Morning entries in blue pen. Afternoon entries in black pen. One entry in pencil. Pencil wasn’t allowed.

Same kit number. Two times. Both logged as received.

She made a copy. The copier was out of paper. Wrong size, then right. The copy was too dark. She kept it.

Put the photocopy in a folder. Labeled it “Pending Research.” Opened her drawer to file it. Found seven other folders with the same label. She filed it. The stack leaned slightly left.

The morning passed. She processed three new intakes. Logged them in both systems. UETS accepted two. The third gave an error. She left it open. She’d retry if the system cleared.

Turkey sandwich from the vending machine. Expiration: tomorrow. The company came Wednesdays.

Tuesday, 1:32 PM. Margaret’s monitor showed a new desktop background. Department seal. “Audit Readiness Begins With You.” She right-clicked. No personalization options.

An email had arrived during lunch. From Cheryl Price’s account, sent by the system. Subject: Annual Compliance Checklist 2024. The year was wrong. She opened it anyway.

Forty-seven items. She scrolled through them:

She continued scrolling.

Version 3.2.1. Same as hers. Copyright 2022.

She printed the list. The printer made a grinding sound. The pages came out. Every third line was faded.

Item 1 first. The temperature log hung next to the eye wash station. Last entry: April 3, 2025. The thermometer’s display was blank. Dead battery.

She found the previous entry: 68°F. Margaret’s handwriting. She wrote 68°F in the April 4 box. Then April 5. Then April 6. Same pen. Blue ink. The log required black.

She continued through June 18. Each day: 68°F.

Back at her desk. Item 15. She walked to Section A. Checked twelve boxes. Three had faded labels. She rewrote all twelve to match. The marker was almost dry. The letters came out gray.

Thomas Lee passed in the hall, wheeling a cart. Boxes stacked to eye level. His shirt showed sweat stains. He didn’t look up.

Item 23. She opened the digital log. Clicked “Sort by signature status.” The system thought for thirteen seconds. Displayed results.

Forty-three entries from 2019 showed single signatures. Policy required two. She clicked the first entry.

She typed: RM

The system accepted it. No warning. No prompt. The change saved instantly.

She clicked the second entry. Nothing happened. She clicked again. The first entry opened. She closed it. Clicked again. Second entry loaded.

She entered: RM

Saved instantly.

Entry 2019-335 already showed “Verified by: RM.” She added it again.

Someone was vacuuming the hall. The vacuum had been broken since December. Now it made a high whine.

Darren appeared at her door. “How’s the prep going?”

“Fine.”

“They mostly just check current year anyway. 2019’s ancient history.” Coffee stain on his tie. Same stain as yesterday. Same position.

She continued adding signatures. Click entry. Type RM. Save. Next. The fourth entry loaded the third. She closed it. Clicked again. Fourth entry appeared.

3:47 PM. The phone rang. 602 area code. She let it ring. Six rings. The voicemail light blinked. She’d checked the message yesterday. And Friday. Same voice. “Just checking on the status.”

By 4:15, she’d updated twenty-three entries. The system logged her out. She logged back in. Found her place. Entry twenty-four.

The remaining twenty entries took until 5:05. Each one saved instantly. The system never questioned the three-year gap. Never asked for confirmation.

Item 24 now showed complete. The signatures she’d added had satisfied it.

Item 31 required a physical check. Checked all sections. Found one box marked “DESTROY AFTER 12/2019.” Logged it as “Pending review.”

Finished at 5:45. Marked all items complete. Some were accurate. Some repeated previous entries. Some filled in gaps. The checklist didn’t distinguish.

She saved the file. Locked her desk. The voicemail light still blinking. Three messages now.

The parking lot had two white vans near the dumpster. One from this morning. One new. No markings on either. She checked her email on her phone. No facilities notices. No work orders.

Drove home the regular way. Orange cones on Morton Street. Holes in the same places. The construction crew was gone. Just the cones and the holes.

Wednesday, 7:58 AM. The parking lot was full. Cars in handicap spots. No placards. A laminated notice on the door: “Visitor Protocols in Effect 6/19.”

The hallway smelled like ammonia.

Margaret’s inbox: fifty-three messages. The compliance checklist email showed fifty-seven items. Yesterday it had forty-seven. Items 48-57 were pre-checked green.

She opened UETS. A banner read “Audit Mode Enabled.” She clicked through morning reports.

The 2019 inventory showed a new column: “Reconciled By.” Her initials appeared in forty-three entries. Entry 2019-338: complete. Also flagged. She clicked “Clear Flag.” Nothing happened. She marked it complete. The system accepted it.

Entry 2019-339 showed “Verified by: TL.” She changed it to RM. Saved. Refreshed. It reverted to TL. She continued to the next entry.

Entry 2019-447 showed “Storage: D-19” and “Storage: D-21” in different fields.

The 2018 inventory showed the same column. Her initials in twelve entries. She checked the activity log. Thomas Lee had worked 2018 reconciliation. The system defaulted to the most recent user when names were missing. That was her.

2018 inventory included items dated 2019. Marked valid.

Morning intake. Three new items. Case 2025-881: clothing. The form had a new field: “Secondary Verifier.” Dropdown menu. She left it.

Case 2025-882: digital device. Same field. She selected her name. Faster than scrolling.

Case 2025-883: documents. Processed them. Moved to the next task.

She opened Case 2025-886. Status already showed: “Processed by MT.” Timestamp: two minutes from now.

The phone rang. 602 area code. “Evidence Management.”

“Hi, I’m checking on my kit?”

“Still locating it.”

“Thank you.”

She hung up.

Ray Mitchell passed her door. “Morning, Margaret.”

“Morning.”

“Need any signatures?”

“No.”

He continued to his desk.

The compliance software showed new tasks. Task 1: “Verify 2018 storage locations.” She hadn’t been assigned 2018 yesterday. Checked the assignment log. Bulk reassignment at 6:47 AM. All unassigned tasks had defaulted to senior staff. She was senior staff.

She clicked through the 2018 locations. Spot-checked five boxes. Three were where the system said. Two had moved during renovation. She updated the locations. The system showed them in the old locations. She updated them again. Now it showed both locations. She marked the task complete.

Task 3 appeared while she was finishing Task 2. Same deadline: yesterday.

Popup: “Complete Annual Training.” She clicked through. Certificate filed under “Evidence Protocol Compliance.”

Task 2: “Update destruction logs for 2016.” Three hundred entries needed dates. The fields wouldn’t accept blank values. She entered “Pending review” in each. The system required dates. She entered 12/31/2029. Five years from now. Standard retention extension. The system accepted it.

Darren stopped by at 3:00. “Just documentation review. Probably won’t even come to evidence.”

She nodded.

At 4:45, she opened the pre-audit verification screen. Her section showed 94% complete. She clicked through the incomplete items. Three entries not found in system. She marked them “N/A - Record not found.” The percentage changed to 100%.

She clicked “Verify All Entries Complete and Accurate.”

Popup: “Verification recorded. Thank you.”

The chair was lower than before. The lever didn’t respond. She continued typing.

She processed two intakes. Identical contents. Different case numbers. Filed both.

At 5:15, she locked her desk. The fluorescent was out. She kept working. The compliance dashboard showed her section: “Reviewed by MT.” Status: Complete.

A report had generated: “2019 Full Reconciliation Summary.” All entries verified. All locations confirmed. All signatures present. Page 47 listed twenty items. Some matched entries she had marked N/A. The system listed them as “Archived - Complete.”

Thirteen new emails. She’d check them tomorrow.

The parking lot had three white vans.

She drove home. Morton Street had new patches in the old holes. The asphalt was still warm.

Thursday, 7:45 AM. Two sedans in visitor parking. Government plates. No markings.

She parked. Her spot was open. The building’s front door was propped open. A folding table in the lobby held coffee urns and pastries. Store-bought.

The conference room had its blinds drawn. Through the gap: two people with laptops. Badges on the table, not worn.

She clocked in at 8:00. Normal morning intake. Case 2025-897: blood samples. All fields pre-filled. Accurate. Submitted.

Darren stopped by at 8:30. “They’re here.”

“I know.”

“Still in conference. No requests.”

She continued working.

At 10:15, an email from a state domain address. Subject: “Records Request - Evidence Management.”

“Please provide the following for review:

Digital format preferred. Thank you.”

She pulled the files from the shared drive. The 2019 summary: 100% reconciliation. Yesterday’s update. Attached ten forms from different years. All complete. All showed dual signatures. Sent.

Reply at 10:32: “Received. Thank you.”

She returned to regular tasks. Processed three more intakes. Updated location records for Section B.

At 1:20, a woman in a blazer stood beside her desk. No badge visible. “Margaret Tillman?”

“Yes.”

“I’m reviewing evidence protocols. Can you show me how you process a standard intake?”

She demonstrated the intake process. The woman took notes without looking up. “Thank you.” She left.

They walked to Section D. Margaret showed the box labeling system. The organization by year. The woman photographed the shelves.

“What about items pending processing?”

Margaret showed her the secure holding area. Three items waiting. All had proper tags.

The woman returned to the conference room.

At 2:45, a man asked about the ‘Reconciled’ entries.

“System update for the audit,” she said.

“Great. That’s what we thought.” He typed while she spoke.

At 3:00, she saw them leaving.

An email at 3:27. Same state domain. “Thank you for your cooperation today. Preliminary review shows strong compliance with state standards. Official report to follow in 6-8 weeks.”

She forwarded it to her supervisor. No response needed.

The afternoon continued. Two more intakes. One phone call about evidence release procedures. She updated the quarterly statistics spreadsheet.

At 5:00, she locked her desk. The conference room was empty. Someone had vacuumed. The blinds were open again.

In the parking lot, the government sedans were gone. Three white vans remained. One had a dent in the rear panel.

Friday, 8:00 AM. The folding table was gone. Coffee stains marked the lobby carpet in two spots.

Margaret logged into UETS. The banner was gone. Top corner still showed: “Audit Mode Enabled.” She opened her queue.

Seventy-three items. Yesterday it had been sixty-eight.

First item: Case 2025-901. Standard intake. Form pre-filled with her name. Blood samples. Submitted.

Second item: Case 2017-334. Status: Reactivated for Review. She opened it. Processed it. The system accepted it.

The morning report showed Entry 2019-447 in two states: “Missing” and “Verified Complete.” Both statuses were timestamped identically.

The phone log showed sixteen calls yesterday. None from the 602 number.

She checked her email. Forty-one messages. One showed her as sender: “Post-Audit Compliance Maintenance Report.” Sent at 11:47 PM. She’d left at 5:00. She deleted it from her sent folder. It remained in her inbox.

Morning intake. Three new evidence bags at the desk. Four entries. All timestamped before she arrived. All showed “Received by: MT.”

She processed the three physical items. Created a fourth entry to match the log. Left the contents field blank. The system required content. She entered: “Documentation pending.” Saved.

Darren passed her office. Didn’t stop.

At 10:30, she noticed Entry 2019-447 had a new field: “Verified by: DP.” She didn’t know DP. Timestamp: 9:15 AM.

She continued processing. 2018 cases appeared in her queue. Then 2016. She worked through them. Each form saved instantly.

The afternoon brought regular intake. She processed each item. Some were already received. She created duplicates. The system assigned new case numbers.

Ray Mitchell stopped by at 2:00. “Everything back to normal?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Good.” He left.

At 3:30, a notification: “Quarterly Inventory Due.” She hadn’t done one since January. She clicked “Complete.” A 67-page report generated. Her name on each page. She saved it to the shared drive.

The compliance checklist email arrived at 4:00. Back to forty-seven items. All pre-checked green. She archived it.

At 4:55, she began closing procedures. The evidence room lights were on motion sensors. They’d been on all day. No one had entered except her.

She returned to her desk. Locked the drawers. The queue showed: 74 items.

She logged out. Stood up. Grabbed her purse.

The queue refreshed on the monitor: 75 items.

In the parking lot, three white vans.

She drove home.

Monday, 8:00 AM. The queue showed 82 items.

Margaret opened the first item. Case 2025-923. Saturday timestamp. Weekend entries: system-assigned.

She processed it. The system accepted it.

Weekly call summary:

She closed the report.

Case 2025-924 required a related case reference. She clicked the dropdown:

She selected None. Processed the item.

Her name appeared in the “Verified by” field before she typed it. Below it: “Secondary Verification: DP.” She submitted the form.

Morning intake. Four evidence bags on her desk. She photographed each. Filled out the forms. Standard procedure.

The third bag went to Section D. She shelved it in D-20. D-19 was not used.

She returned to her desk. Processed two more digital entries. One from 2018. Status: Retroactive Documentation Required. She provided it. Five fields. All accepted.

The compliance dashboard showed her monthly statistics:

Afternoon intake. Case 2025-928 asked for related case. She clicked the dropdown. Selected 2019-447. The system showed it as both “Active” and “Archived.” She selected it. Both statuses remained. Linked status confirmed.

She sealed the evidence bag. Wrote the case number in permanent marker. The seal held.

Walked to Section D. Shelved it in D-20. Returned to her desk.

The queue showed 83 items.

She opened the next case.