The conversation wasn't hostile.
But it revealed something he'd encountered in other organizations.
People sometimes treated the age of a system as proof of its reliability.
If a contract had existed for twenty years, they assumed it must be appropriate.
If a supervisor had served for fifteen years, they assumed complaints against him were probably misunderstandings.
And if a policy had never produced a major scandal, they assumed it didn't need examination.
The commissioner wasn't willing to make those assumptions.
He'd already reviewed a small sample of complaints involving vehicle impoundments.
Several motorists claimed their cars had been removed without a clear explanation.
Others described unusually high storage fees.
A few alleged that officers had discouraged them from obtaining copies of the relevant reports.
The complaints did not establish that every impoundment was improper.
Vehicles sometimes needed to be removed for legitimate safety or enforcement reasons.
But the repeated patterns deserved examination.
The commissioner had asked for an independent data review.
He also planned to speak with dispatchers, patrol supervisors, motorists, and the businesses responsible for towing vehicles.
He wanted to know what happened between the moment an officer requested a tow and the moment someone paid to recover a car.
Then his mother called.
"Are you still coming for dinner?"
He smiled.
"Yes, ma'am."
"What time?"
"Before six."
She laughed.
"That isn't a time."
He looked toward his watch.
"Five-thirty."
"Better."
He could hear dishes moving in the background.
She was preparing his favorite meal.
Roasted chicken.
Collard greens.
Rice.
And sweet potatoes.
He hadn't eaten his mother's cooking in nearly three weeks.
The new position had required meetings, paperwork, interviews, and travel.
He was exhausted.
But he wanted to see her.
"Don't make too much food," he said.
She laughed.
"I've been your mother forty-two years. You think I'm taking cooking instructions from you now?"
He smiled.
"No, ma'am."
"Good."
Then her voice softened.
"Your father would've been so proud today."
The commissioner became quiet.
He looked toward the small framed photograph resting on his office desk.
"I know."
His mother continued.
"He always said you were going to do something important."
The commissioner smiled sadly.
"He also said I talked too much."
She laughed.
"That too."
They spoke for another minute.
Then he ended the call.
At a little after four, he left the building wearing a slate-gray polo shirt, beige khaki trousers, and comfortable brown shoes.