“I can call medical.”
Keller laughed from the doorway.
“Come on, Ellis. The guy's got a couple scratches.”
Ellis looked toward him.
“They're bleeding.”
“So get him a bandage.”
Daniel said nothing.
He watched Ellis.
The younger officer hesitated.
Then reached for a phone.
Briggs snapped, “I said I'll handle it.”
Ellis froze.
Briggs looked up.
“You got somewhere else to be?”
Ellis glanced toward Daniel.
Then toward Keller.
Finally he lowered his hand.
“I'll finish my report.”
He walked away.
Daniel watched him go.
That moment mattered more than Ellis understood.
Because Daniel had spent seven months studying the difference between officers who actively participated in misconduct and those who stood nearby, recognized something was wrong, and did nothing.
The second category was harder to confront.
They often believed themselves innocent.
They didn't steal.
Didn't strike.
Didn't falsify.
They simply watched.
And sometimes that was enough to keep a broken system functioning.
Briggs removed Daniel's handcuffs.
Daniel flexed his fingers carefully.
The skin around both wrists was red.
His right hand was swollen.
Briggs pushed a clear plastic property bin across the counter.
“Empty your pockets.”
Daniel removed his keys.
A folded receipt.
A few coins.
Then his wallet.
Briggs took it before Daniel finished.
“What's this?”
“My wallet.”
“Don't be funny.”
He turned the leather over in his hand.
Then looked at the young man's shirt.
“Nice little outfit. You trying to impress somebody?”
Daniel remained silent.
Briggs smiled.
“Lost your voice?”
“No.”
“Then answer when I speak.”
Daniel looked him straight in the eye.
“I have been answering your questions.”
Briggs leaned back.
“You've got an attitude.”
Daniel's face remained controlled.
“I've been asking for a supervisor.”
“And I've been ignoring you.”
Briggs smiled broadly.
“See how that works?”
Daniel looked toward the red telephone.
Then back at him.
“Not for much longer.”
Briggs's eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
Daniel did not answer.
Instead he placed his injured hands together on the counter.
Briggs picked up the wallet.
And the sequence of events that would eventually bring federal investigators into that room began.
The officer opened the main compartment.
Pulled out the driver's license.
Examined it.
Then looked toward Keller.
“Twenty-seven. Looks younger.”
Keller laughed.
“Acts about twelve.”
Briggs removed the folded photograph.
It showed Daniel beside an older Black American man in work clothes.
The older man smiled broadly, one arm resting on Daniel's shoulder.
Briggs held it up.
“Who's this?”
Daniel's expression changed slightly.
“My father.”
Briggs smirked.
“Looks like a hardworking man.”
“He was.”
“Was?”
“He died.”