“Could refer to Black people.”
“Yes.”
“Which?”
“I cannot know.”
Laura nodded.
“That answer helps more than certainty.”
I understood.
Cases fail when witnesses overclaim.
She stood.
“We’re done today.”
“Thank you.”
At door, I asked:
“Agent Bennett.”
She turned.
“Is Maya Reynolds being interviewed?”
Denise sighed.
Laura’s expression remained neutral.
“I cannot discuss witnesses.”
“Of course.”
I nodded.
Then:
“Please make sure she has counsel.”
Laura looked at me.
“She does.”
Good.
Maya Reynolds eventually became one of the most important witnesses.
Not because she saw my assault.
She did not.
Because she proved Miller’s story impossible.
Maya was twenty-nine.
Black.
Five-four.
Short natural curls.
On day in question, wearing gray transport jumpsuit and county slip-on shoes.
She had been brought from jail at 7:40 a.m.
At 8:05, elevator malfunction caused transport confusion.
At 8:07, deputy lost visual contact for less than three minutes when Maya was directed into wrong corridor with another group.
At 8:10, she was located in attorney consultation room.
At 8:12, dispatch transmitted resolved.
Miller acknowledged at 8:16.
At 8:23, he stopped me.
Maya’s public defender, Jasmine Cole, called Denise after investigation allowed contact.
Jasmine said Maya wanted to speak with me eventually.
Not yet.
I respected.
Months later we met.
Private conference room.
No media.
No cameras.
Maya entered wearing jeans and a green sweater.
She looked nothing like me.
That was first thought.
Then I hated thought because no resemblance should have been required for what happened to matter.
She sat across from me.
We stared at each other awkwardly.
Finally Maya said:
“They keep saying he thought you were me.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I frowned.
“For what?”
“If I hadn't missed court—”
“No.”
My voice was sharper than intended.
She looked startled.
I softened.
“Do not take one ounce of this.”
“But my case—”
“No.”
“You missing court did not cause him to hit me.”
She looked down.
“I know logically.”
“Good.”
“Emotion isn't logical.”
“No.”
I understood.
Maya continued:
“People online keep posting my mugshot next to your picture.”
I had seen.
Hated it.
Captions:
THIS IS WHO HE THOUGHT THE JUDGE WAS.
As if comparison were entertainment.
Some commenters judged whether confusion was plausible based on beauty, clothes, skin tone, hair.
Dehumanizing both of us differently.
“I’m sorry.”
I said.
Maya shrugged.
“I have been called worse.”
“That doesn't make it acceptable.”
“No.”