The lot at Washington Elementary was empty apart from Paul Vance’s sedan parked by the front entrance.

The heavy double doors clicked shut behind me, the sound echoing down the silent hall.

Paul Vance sat at his desk with three thick manila folders open in front of him.

He took off his wire-rimmed glasses and polished them with the end of his tie.

“The district auditor walked out twenty minutes ago,” Paul said.

“Did the county software take the deposit?” I asked.

Paul reached into his top drawer and took out a narrow white receipt with purple ink across the top.