Then one phrase:
Subject repeatedly reached toward waistband despite commands.
Malik looked up.
“No.”
Dana tapped it.
“That sentence matters.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve seen it before.”
Malik frowned.
“In another case?”
“Several.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She leaned back.
“But Officer Ransom has been arresting people in this county for fifteen years.”
“And public defenders talk.”
Malik stared at the affidavit.
“Is he known?”
“He is known for finding resistance.”
The phrase chilled him.
“Finding?”
Dana nodded.
“Some officers encounter more resisting suspects than everyone else.”
“Sometimes assignments explain it.”
“Sometimes they don’t.”
She gathered papers.
“Tomorrow morning is your first appearance.”
“Can charges be dismissed?”
“Maybe.”
“Will they?”
“Depends prosecutor.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Sleep.”
Malik laughed.
“Try again.”
“Do not post online.”
“Do not call reporters.”
“Do not contact officer.”
“Do not explain more than needed to jail staff.”
“And when judge asks?”
“Answer exactly.”
She stood.
“Your job tonight is being boring.”
“That I can do.”
“I’m told soldiers struggle.”
“Only officers.”
She smiled.
“See you at eight.”
The cell was colder than it needed to be.
Malik shared with a man named Andre who had been arrested for missing a probation appointment.
Andre recognized him.
“You that dude from video.”
Malik looked.
“What video?”
“Cop putting you down.”
“You saw?”
“Everybody saw before they took my phone.”
Malik sat on lower bunk.
Andre studied his trousers.
“You really Army?”
“Yes.”
“That why they gonna let you out?”
“I hope they let me out because charges are false.”
Andre laughed softly.
“Man.”
“What?”
“You really just got here.”
Malik understood.
He lay back.
The ceiling hummed.
At 2:17 a.m., he was still awake.
Not because of fear of jail.
Because he kept replaying the crowd.
The laughter.
The phones.
The woman saying probably deserves it.
Ransom saying thug.
You people.
The boot behind his ankle.
He had been shot at before.
Not often.
Enough.
Fear under fire was clean.
The threat was obvious.
This had been different.
A man with legal authority had written a version of reality in which Malik became dangerous because Malik asked what crime he was suspected of.
That frightened him.
The report existed.
Without video, it would be Malik’s word against Ransom’s.
The uniform would probably win.
His own uniform might help.
That was the part he hated.
At 7:41 the next morning, Malik was brought into Cedar County Magistrate Court wearing county-issued clothes because the jail had removed his boots and belt.
His mother sat in the gallery beside his sister.
His nephew was not there.
Thank God.
Dana stood at counsel table.
Assistant District Attorney Paul Whitaker stood opposite.
Young.
Maybe thirty-five.
He looked exhausted and annoyed.
Judge Miriam Hale entered.
Sixty.
Sharp eyes.