Use-of-force incidents were down eighteen percent.
Consent searches declined sharply.
Contraband recovery remained almost unchanged.
That finding interested her.
Fewer consent searches.
Same meaningful recovery.
Officers were becoming more selective.
Traffic stops were shorter.
Supervisor interventions rose.
Several officers documented disagreements with partners without retaliation.
Not perfect.
Better.
At the public meeting, Iris stood beside Chief Keller.
His hair was grayer.
“We have not completed the work,” he said.
That sentence would have sounded like public relations two years earlier.
Now he followed it with data showing exactly where the department still failed.
Iris respected that.
Afterward, Keisha Martin approached.
“My brother drives through town again.”
Iris smiled.
“How is he?”
“Still stubborn.”
“Good.”
Keisha looked toward Davis talking with residents.
“That young cop changed.”
“Yes.”
“Think people really change?”
Iris watched him.
“Sometimes.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
Keisha laughed.
“Great answer from a federal investigator.”
Iris smiled.
“We measure behavior.”
“What about the heart?”
“Above my pay grade.”
Three years after the incident, Iris received an unexpected call.
Marcus transferred it without explanation.
“Green.”
Silence.
Then a male voice.
“Ms. Green?”
She recognized him.
“Mr. Hollister.”
The title hurt him.
Not Sergeant.
Just Mr.
“Yes.”
“How did you get this number?”
“Your office gave me the public line.”
“Why are you calling?”
He breathed.
“I’m in counseling.”
Iris waited.
“Not because the court told me anymore.”
Silence.
“I kept going.”
“That sounds useful.”
“I need to ask something.”
“Okay.”
“Did you hate me?”
Iris leaned back.
The question surprised her.
“That day?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
Hollister was quiet.
“After?”
“Sometimes.”
Another silence.
“Do you now?”
Iris thought carefully.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because hate is work.”
He laughed softly.
“That’s it?”
“Mostly.”
He sounded disappointed.
People wanted forgiveness to be grand.
It rarely was.
Hollister said, “I’ve been speaking with former officers.”
“About?”
“Authority.”
Iris did not respond.
“I tell them what I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I spent years telling stories where I was always the reasonable one.”
He paused.
“I figured I should tell one where I’m not.”
Iris looked out her office window.
“That is probably useful.”
“I don’t ask anyone to forgive me.”
“Good.”
“Do you?”