"I can't promise the result," Audrey said. "But write down everything you remember and keep the original receipts. If a lawyer or investigator reviews the pattern, they'll need each case on its own facts."
The woman nodded, adjusting the sleeping baby against her shoulder. Audrey looked at her and thought of how many people had reached this window carrying the remains of something important. Most never entered a courtroom in the role of a judge. They entered asking whether the right to be heard had been priced beyond what they could afford.
On Tuesday morning, two county liquor-license inspectors arrived at Exit 74 Fuel and Market with a deputy standing behind them. Sunil showed them the most recent inspection certificate, a clean result issued only months earlier. They responded that this was a routine follow-up, then spent four hours counting bottles, checking storage shelves, and questioning entries in the inventory. Customers entered, saw the uniform at the door, and left without purchasing anything.
"You sell individual cold beers?" one inspector asked, studying the cooler.
"Yes, where permitted. We keep them in that section."
"Who usually buys one beer at a time?"
Sunil glanced toward the deputy. "Many different customers."
When the inspection was nearly over, the deputy tapped the black ribbon tied around the third cooler door. "Somebody die, Mr. Mehta? Or is somebody about to?"
The sentence was spoken lightly enough that its speaker might later claim he meant nothing. Sunil heard it as clearly as any direct threat. He had spent years renewing licenses, meeting supply invoices, and keeping his store open through slow winters. A man with a family and one business did not need a written ultimatum to recognize when somebody wanted him frightened.
That evening he telephoned Audrey. He asked her not to visit the store again and told her he would not give testimony. His wife Asha had been frightened when she heard about the inspectors, and their daughter was due to begin college next year. Audrey listened without asking him to reconsider.
"I understand," she said. "You chose to help me with a receipt. I won't pretend you owe me your family's security as well."
"I thought I could do the right thing without people noticing."
"Sometimes that happens," Audrey replied. "Sometimes the people who should protect you are the ones making the choice harder. Whatever you decide, keep a record of today's inspection."
"I don't want to be a witness."
"Then I won't ask you to be one today. Take care of your family, Mr. Mehta. That's important work."
Sunil hung up and sat behind the counter long after closing, his hands resting beside the receipt printer. He remembered his father teaching him to make change without trusting the first number on a calculator. The old man had been certain arithmetic could protect you from some kinds of cheating. Sunil thought about the county card and the camera footage that might vanish in days. Some kinds of cheating required a person willing to be seen noticing.