The realization disturbed him more than almost anything since the original encounter. His professional status had made Mason stop. It had prompted Captain Vanji to appear on a Saturday. It had made a senior federal supervisor willing to discuss his case. Yet other people might have experienced similar intimidation with none of those resources, and their complaints might have vanished without producing even a serious question. Francis had never liked being identified solely by his job, but now he wondered whether his badge imposed a responsibility beyond protecting himself.
Two days later, an unfamiliar number sent him a message. It arrived shortly after lunch and contained only a few words: "Coffee on Fifth, Lincoln Avenue. Seven tomorrow. Come alone. NP."
Francis read the initials twice before understanding. Nate Puren, the fourth officer. The one who had stayed beside the cruiser and suggested that Mason verify his credentials. Francis had no proof the message came from Puren, but he recognized the possibility and replied with a neutral acknowledgment. Then he sat back, thinking through the risks.
He told Regina he had an early meeting the next morning but did not initially identify the sender, partly because he did not want to offer her hope before learning whether the contact was genuine. She watched him over breakfast and knew he was withholding a detail. "You don't have to tell me protected work information," she said, "but please don't make me guess whether you're putting yourself in danger." Francis apologized. He explained that someone connected to the incident might be willing to speak, and that he would meet in a public place. Regina did not like the secrecy, but she understood why the source might be frightened.
The coffee shop was a small business with mismatched wooden chairs and chalkboard menus written in uneven letters. Francis arrived shortly before seven, wearing ordinary clothes and carrying no visible agency equipment. Puren was seated in a booth near the back, baseball cap pulled low, hands clasped around a cup he had barely touched. He glanced toward the entrance every few seconds. When Francis approached, Puren looked relieved and frightened at the same time. "Thanks for coming," he said.
Francis sat across from him. "You contacted me." Puren nodded. "I shouldn't be here."
"Then tell me what matters." The younger officer studied the tabletop as though the grain might offer a safer subject. Francis waited without filling the silence. He had learned that people carrying difficult information often needed time to decide whether they could bear the consequences of speaking it aloud.
"Mason's done things like that before," Puren finally said. "Not always as obvious. Sometimes it's a stop that doesn't make sense. Sometimes the story changes when the report gets written."
Francis maintained a neutral expression. "What did you personally observe?" "Enough to know the report about your driveway isn't true." Puren swallowed.
"You didn't threaten anybody. You asked what was happening. Mason was angry before backup even arrived."