Page 17 of Logan’s Way

He picked up his pen and drew a single line through J. Brennan’s name on the death certificate copy. Not crossing it out entirely—just marking it as false. As fiction. As the key that unlocked everything else.

Then he wrote one more note:

If the registrar never existed, then Logan’s death never did either.

The certainty lodged in his chest. Not hope. Not relief. Just knowledge that couldn’t be unlearned.

His brother’s death was manufactured. Deliberately. Systematically. With enough institutional support to survive casual scrutiny but not focused investigation.

And now Angus had to decide what to do with that knowledge.

Chapter Six

The call came Monday morning while Angus was feeding Scout.

His cell phone rang with a number he didn’t recognize—Maine area code, but not local. Angus set down the dog food and answered.

“Sheriff Reid.”

“Sheriff Reid, this is Catherine Marsh calling from the State Oversight Commission. Do you have a moment?”

Angus stilled. The State Oversight Commission handled internal reviews, ethics complaints, and administrative concerns across Maine’s law enforcement agencies. They didn’t call sheriffs to chat about the weather.

“Of course. What can I do for you?”

“This is just a courtesy call, nothing formal.” Marsh’s voice was professional, almost friendly. “We received a routine flag from the vital records division regarding some recent access patterns. Your name came up, and I wanted to reach out personally before anything became…unnecessarily complicated.”

Scout finished eating and drank from his water bowl. Outside, morning traffic moved past the house. Everything seemed normal. Except it wasn’t.

“I’m not sure I follow,” Angus said carefully.

“Over the past week, you made several inquiries into vital records systems—state archives, county employment databases, registrar licensing. All perfectly legal access, of course. But the pattern triggered an automated review, and when the system flagged it for potential conflict of interest, I thought it best to reach out directly.”

“Conflict of interest.”

“You’re on bereavement leave following your mother’s passing, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“And these record searches appear to be related to a death certificate from several years ago. A family member, if I’m reading the initial report correctly.”

Angus said nothing, letting her fill the silence.

“The concern,” Marsh continued carefully, “is that using your law enforcement credentials to access vital records for a personal matter could create liability issues. Not just for you, but for your department. If there were ever questions about proper authorization or appropriate use of restricted databases…”

“I haven’t accessed anything restricted.”

“No, you haven’t. That’s what makes this a courtesy call instead of a formal inquiry.” Her tone remained pleasant, though something beneath it had edges. “We just wanted to make sure you were aware that these searches have been logged and reviewed. And to remind you that any investigation involving family members should be conducted through proper channels with appropriate oversight.”

“Proper channels being?”

“Filing a formal request with the county where the records originated. Working with the ME’s office. Going through the state’s family inquiry protocols.” A pause. “Not running searches through law enforcement databases while on leave.”

Angus watched Scout settle on his bed in the corner, his eyes tracking Angus’s movement. Outside, a neighbor’s car started up, pulled out of the driveway, and drove away. Monday morning continued its ordinary rhythm.

“So I’m being advised to stop.”

“You’re being advised,” Marsh said carefully, “that continuing without formal authorization could compromise the integrity of these systems. And that could raise questions about whether you’re acting in an official capacity or a personal one. We want to protect you from any suggestion of impropriety.”