The brass tag drawer at Gate Six was three short before I signed the morning clipboard.

Private Dewitt counted them twice and got the same number both times.

Nine tags on the board, twelve hooks.

The three empty hooks sat in a row above the drawer.

“Maybe maintenance borrowed them,” Dewitt said.

He shifted his boots on the gravel.

“Maintenance signs for brass.” I checked the clipboard chain, then the board again.

“Who had the drawer open before shift?”

“Sergeant Salas had it at six.

Then headquarters called about the vehicle count.” Dewitt looked at the empty hooks.

“I never saw anyone take tags.”

I flipped the top sheet on the clipboard.

Two carbon copies were still clipped under it.

Same vehicle number, 0610 and 0614, no stamp beside either line.

“Did you run this vehicle twice?”

“No, Sergeant.

The first line was already there when I came on.”

The brass clip bit into my thumb.