“I’ll drive you myself.”
She looked at him.
“You’re in uniform.”
He almost smiled.
“Fair.”
Eventually Denise—no, different story. We need new support character. Let's use her longtime friend Naomi Reed. Continue.
Kesha called her sister instead.
Angela Langford arrived twenty-three minutes later.
She was older by four years, a pediatrician, wearing surgical scrubs beneath a camel coat and an expression that suggested she might personally dismantle the police department.
She hugged Kesha.
Then saw the wrist.
Her face changed.
“Who did that?”
Kesha glanced toward Holt’s supervisor vehicle.
Angela followed her gaze.
“Which one?”
“Later.”
“No. Now.”
“Angela.”
“Which one?”
Cole approached.
“Dr. Langford—”
Angela turned.
“How do you know my name?”
Cole stopped.
Kesha almost laughed despite herself.
“Angela.”
“That’s Deputy Chief Cole.”
“I don’t care if he’s the Pope with a radio.”
Cole accepted the hit.
Fair.
Angela pointed toward Kesha’s wrist.
“Does your department train officers to put cuffs on women loading groceries?”
“Shopping bags,” Kesha corrected automatically.
Angela looked at her.
“That is what you’re correcting?”
“I bought perfume.”
“Wonderful.”
Angela turned back to Cole.
“What happened?”
Kesha answered before he could.
“I’ll tell you in the car.”
Angela looked at the crowd.
Phones.
Officers.
Holt sitting inside a supervisor SUV.
Then at Kesha.
“Okay.”
They left.
Neither sister spoke for the first five minutes.
Then Angela said:
“You’re shaking.”
“I know.”
“You want the heat up?”
“No.”
“Water?”
“No.”
“Hospital?”
“No.”
“You don’t have to do that thing.”
Kesha looked toward her.
“What thing?”
“The judge thing.”
“I am a judge.”
“You’re also my little sister.”
“Four years.”
“Still little.”
Kesha looked out the window.
Traffic moved slowly beneath holiday lights.
Angela kept driving.
After a while:
“Did he know?”
“No.”
“That you were a judge?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Kesha turned.
“Good?”
Angela’s jaw tightened.
“Because now nobody gets to pretend the way he treated you was some special reaction to your authority.”
Kesha felt something in her chest.
Exactly.
Angela understood before most lawyers would.
“He thought I stole the car.”
“Did he say that?”
“Not directly.”
“He asked whether it belonged to me.”
Angela laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”