I told him everything.
The water.
The thousands of fish.
Mountain Aquatic Services.
The $4,800 invoice.
Karen admitting Silver Ridge had ordered the relocation.
When I finished, Daniel was silent long enough that I checked the phone.
"You there?"
"Yes. How many fish?"
"Thousands. I cannot count them."
"Species?"
"Mixed. Trout, bass, others."
"Health certificates?"
"None."
"Transfer permit?"
"None."
"State fisheries paperwork?"
"Nothing."
"County authorization?"
"No."
Daniel exhaled.
"Robert, that is not normal."
"I figured."
"No, I mean beyond the trespass problem. You cannot simply move a large live fish population between waters without knowing what is being moved, particularly if there are tagged fish, regulated species, commercial stock, or disease controls involved."
I looked toward the pond.
"Tagged?"
"Do you see any tags?"
"I have not looked closely."
"Do that. Photograph everything. Do not net anything unless somebody qualified tells you to. Do not let Karen or the contractor remove anything."
"Why would I?"
"Because right now the fish may be evidence."
That word changed the way I looked at the pond.
Evidence.
I walked down to the bank with my phone.
The afternoon sun had come out and the water was calmer, but the population still looked impossibly dense. Fish clustered near the inflow where colder water entered. Several large trout moved slowly beneath the surface.
I crouched near a shallow gravel shelf.
That was when I saw the first metal tag.
It was small, silver-colored, attached near the dorsal fin of a large trout. I zoomed in with my phone until numbers became visible.
RS-44721.
Another fish carried a similar tag.
RS-45008.
Farther out, something yellow flashed beneath the surface. Another tag, different style.
I took dozens of photographs.
Then I sent the clearest ones to Daniel.
He called back nine minutes later.
"Robert."
His voice had changed.
"Yeah?"
"Do not let anyone remove those fish."
"You already said that."
"I am saying it again."
"What did you find?"
"The RS series appears in the state fisheries registration database."
I looked at the water.
"Silver Ridge?"
"No."
"Then whose?"
"A registered breeding program."
I stood slowly.