“That is still how evidence works.”
The clerk nodded.
Then:
“Can I ask something personal?”
“No.”
The clerk smiled faintly.
“I’m going to anyway.”
Vanessa waited.
“Were you scared?”
Vanessa looked toward the rain outside.
She could have answered no.
That would have been easy.
Powerful.
False.
“Yes.”
The clerk’s face changed.
Vanessa continued.
“Not at first.”
“At first I was annoyed.”
“Then he put his hand near his gun.”
The clerk swallowed.
“And I realized he had already decided what kind of person I was.”
“That is when I got scared.”
The clerk looked toward her.
“But you threatened his badge.”
Vanessa almost smiled.
“I was scared, not helpless.”
“Those are different.”
The clerk nodded slowly.
Vanessa looked at the red blazer hanging over the back of a chair.
“I kept thinking that if I raised my voice, he would call it aggression.”
“If I moved too quickly, he would call it threatening.”
“If I tried to pull away, he would call it resistance.”
“If I stayed completely still, he might cuff me.”
“So I was doing calculations.”
“Every second.”
The clerk said nothing.
Vanessa continued quietly.
“I’ve done those calculations outside courtrooms before.”
“Never inside one.”
The law clerk looked down.
“What do you want to happen to him?”
Vanessa answered immediately.
“I want facts established.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Vanessa looked toward her.
“No.”
“It isn’t.”
She removed the ice pack.
Her wrist ached.
“I don’t know yet.”
That evening, Harlan went home without his badge or firearm.
His wife met him at the kitchen table.
The television was already showing Vanessa’s photograph.
A formal judicial portrait.
Black robe.
American flag behind her.
Harlan stared at it.
His wife muted the screen.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you?”
He did not answer.
His wife understood.
“She told you.”
“She said it.”
“Then what?”
“I thought she was lying.”