CHAPTER TWO — BEFORE THE DRILL
The county had developed the emergency fuel program after an ice storm left isolated residents without power for four days.
Ambulance teams had carried portable oxygen equipment up unlit stairs.
Volunteer drivers had spent entire nights searching for open stations.
An elderly woman in the western district had slept in her car because the heat in her apartment had failed.
Marcus had never forgotten how she apologized to the responders for being troublesome.
The new program was deliberately modest.
Registered facilities and volunteer transport teams could receive limited fuel when a verified emergency disrupted ordinary supplies.
Each distribution required two independent approvals and a physical receipt.
No resident needed to pay a membership fee to be considered for assistance.
The public test that afternoon was supposed to expose weak points before winter.
Twelve sample vouchers had been loaded into the training system for volunteers to practice claiming them.
Those samples carried no purchasing authority.
Someone had apparently converted the sample codes into real transactions.
Julian stood beside the broken truck and scrolled through the redemptions.
“Four stations, twelve pickups, and the same authentication number.”
“Which number?”
“Your temporary supervisor credential.”
Marcus shook his head.
“I haven’t activated that credential.”
“The system says you did at eight seventeen this morning.”
Carol, waiting beside the patrol car, lifted her head.
Marcus noticed.
He walked toward Boone without approaching Carol directly.
“Before you transport her, I need to report another observation,” he said.
He described the silver sedan and its slow pass along the street.
“Do you have a plate?” Boone asked.
“Not yet. The landscapers might.
”
Carol began shaking her head.
“That car had nothing to do with this.”
Boone turned to her.
“Which car, ma’am?”
Carol pressed her lips together.
She had heard the description, but Marcus could tell she had recognized something more specific than a color.
Julian moved a few steps away and called the operations center.
Marcus contacted Deputy Chief Lena Ortiz, who had already arrived at the fairgrounds where the test was scheduled.
“Suspend voucher redemption,” he told her.
“We already did,” Lena replied.
“Did any volunteer receive fuel?”
“None of our people. Every pickup was credited to an outside driver.”
“Who approved the outside drivers?”
“That’s the question.”
The landscaping foreman, a broad-shouldered man named Jamal Price, came over from the sidewalk.
He offered Marcus a photograph taken while his crew unloaded a mower.
The silver sedan appeared behind Carol’s shoulder.
Its rear license plate was readable.
Marcus forwarded the image to Boone and then sent it to the county fraud investigator assigned to the program.
Jamal examined the damaged truck.
“She called you names before she hit it,” he said.
“I heard enough,” Marcus replied.
“I can give a statement.”
“Please do.”
Jamal glanced toward Carol and then back at Marcus.
“You know what’s funny? She told us yesterday that the county had promised free gasoline to anybody who signed up with her.”
Marcus straightened.
“What sign-up?”
“Some emergency club. She was handing out blue cards at the market.”
Julian ended his call.
“What’s that?”
Marcus repeated Jamal’s account.
Julian’s face tightened.
“We’ve been receiving complaints about those cards for two weeks.”
“Why wasn’t I told?”
“They were classified as consumer questions, not emergency management reports.”
Marcus looked at the broken window.
Carol had demanded gasoline as though a personal entitlement had already been established.
Maybe she had believed it.
Or maybe she had expected the can to solve a problem for somebody else.
He asked Jamal whether he had kept a card.
“My aunt did,” Jamal said.
“She lives at Hawthorne Court.”
Hawthorne Court was an apartment building for older adults on the county’s registered assistance list.
Marcus felt a cold unease.
“Would she speak to us?”
“She’ll speak to anybody who can explain why she paid two hundred dollars for fuel she’s never received.”
Marcus looked at Julian.
“Call the consumer protection office.”
“Already dialing.”
Boone escorted Carol into the patrol car.
Carol turned at the door.
“I want my attorney.”
“You have that right,” Boone replied.
Carol fixed her eyes on Marcus.
“You think all this makes you important.”
Marcus didn’t answer.
The officers drove away with Carol in the back seat.
Julian opened his black case and handed Marcus a replacement county phone.
“Your garage window is intact, and the equipment is secured,” Julian said.
“But you’re going to need a different truck.”
Marcus looked at the ruined passenger seat.
Glass covered the console where his daughter often left a packet of gum.
For one second he was simply a man standing beside something a neighbor had destroyed out of spite.
Then Lena called again.
“Chief, there’s a crowd forming at the fairgrounds.”
“How many?”
“At least forty people, and more are arriving.”
“Volunteers?”
“No. They’re holding the blue cards.”
