“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“You are a victim-witness now.”
The phrase irritated him.
“I am still case agent.”
“No.”
“Carla.”
“You cannot investigate your own assault.”
“That wasn’t the core case.”
“It is now part of the core case.”
Derek leaned back.
“This is ridiculous.”
“It is ethics.”
“Worse.”
Nguyen almost smiled.
“You will consult.”
“You will provide context.”
“You will not direct the Mitchell branch.”
“Who is?”
“Special Agent Maya Chen.”
Derek frowned.
“Chen hates me.”
“No.”
“She hates everyone who labels evidence bags incorrectly.”
“That happened once.”
“Three times.”
“Those bags were temporary.”
“They were wrong.”
Derek sighed.
“Fine.”
Nguyen’s expression softened.
“How is Ava?”
He looked down.
“She saw the video.”
“Damn.”
“She asked what would’ve happened if I didn’t have the badge.”
Nguyen said nothing.
She knew better.
Derek stood.
At the door, Nguyen said:
“That question is why this case matters.”
He looked back.
“I know.”
“No.”
She tapped the police statement.
“The Bureau will focus on stolen cars.”
“Corruption.”
“Computer access.”
“Money.”
“Civil Rights will focus on force and discriminatory enforcement.”
“Prosecutors will focus on charges.”
“Everybody will divide the facts into legal boxes.”
Nguyen looked at him.
“Don’t lose her question in the boxes.”
Derek nodded.
He never did.
Noah Nolan appeared at the FBI field office at 6:10 that evening.
Alone.
No uniform.
Jeans.
Gray sweatshirt.
He looked as if he had not slept.
Maya Chen met him inside an interview room.
Derek watched through glass.
He was not supposed to participate.
He hated that.
Nolan sat with both hands around a paper cup.
Chen asked:
“Why are you here voluntarily?”
Nolan stared at the coffee.
“Because Sergeant Mitchell lied.”
“About yesterday?”
“About a lot.”
“Be specific.”
Nolan took a breath.
“I joined Bellmont Police eighteen months ago.”
“Mitchell became my field supervisor six months later.”
“At first I thought he was just…”
He stopped.
Chen waited.
“Old-school.”
“What does that mean?”
Nolan laughed bitterly.
“Whatever people need it to mean.”
He continued.
“Traffic stops.”
“Mitchell had cars he liked.”
“Luxury.”
“Out-of-state plates.”
“Drivers who looked nervous.”
Chen asked:
“Race?”
Nolan stared at the cup.
“Yes.”
“What races?”
“Mostly Black men.”
“Some Latino.”
“Sometimes white guys if the car was exotic.”
“He’d say things.”
“What things?”
Nolan swallowed.
“‘That car doesn’t match the driver.’”
“‘Let’s find out who really owns it.’”
“‘People like that rent success by the hour.’”