“Thought I’d try.”
She turned off the monitor.
“One statement.”
“What?”
“Say an independent review is underway.”
“That’s boring.”
“Good.”
Thomas leaned back.
“What about the obvious point?”
“Which one?”
“He assaulted the person responsible for supervising the task force his department relies on.”
Naomi’s expression cooled.
“That is not the obvious point.”
Thomas stopped smiling.
She continued.
“The obvious point is he believed he could do it safely before learning my position.”
Silence.
Elena nodded.
Thomas did too.
Eventually.
The footage spread overnight.
By morning, Naomi’s name trended nationally.
She hated every second of it.
Commentators described Mercer as racist before investigators had interviewed him.
Others defended him before watching the full video.
Some said Naomi deliberately baited him.
Others called her a hero.
Memes appeared.
A freeze-frame of Mercer hearing the radio call became a reaction image.
Naomi found the entire cycle exhausting.
Her mother called at 7:03 a.m.
“You got shoved?”
“Good morning, Mom.”
“Do not ‘good morning’ me.”
Naomi smiled despite herself.
Her mother, Diane Carter, was seventy-two and had retired after thirty-nine years as a public-school principal.
Naomi had faced armed suspects with less anxiety than phone calls from her mother.
“I’m fine.”
“The news said he kicked you.”
“Behind the knee.”
“That’s called kicking.”
“It was a control technique.”
“That’s called kicking with paperwork.”
Naomi laughed.
Her mother continued.
“Are you hurt?”
“Bruised.”
“Did you hit him back?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Surprised?”
“No. You’ve always been annoyingly disciplined.”
“Love you too.”
Diane became quieter.
“Was he like that because you’re Black?”
Naomi stared out her kitchen window.
Washington was waking beneath a gray sky.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t?”
“I know race may have affected how he read me.”
“That’s different from knowing what was in his head.”
Diane sighed.
“You sound like your father.”
Naomi smiled.
“He’d like that.”
Her father had died four years earlier.
James Carter had been a bus mechanic.
No government title.
No advanced degree.
No patience for authority that could not explain itself.
When Naomi joined federal service, he gave her one warning.
“Don’t fall in love with people standing up when you enter a room.”
She had never forgotten it.
Diane said:
“Your father would’ve driven down there.”
“I know.”
“He would’ve gotten arrested.”
“I know.”
“He would’ve told everyone the arrest proved his point.”
Naomi laughed.
“Yes.”
Her mother’s voice softened.
“I’m proud of you.”
“For getting stopped?”
“For not becoming what stopped you.”
Naomi stopped smiling.
That stayed with her.
Officer Grant Mercer hired an attorney.
The police union issued a statement demanding due process.
Naomi agreed with it.
That irritated people on both sides.
A television host asked why she was “defending” the officer.
She was not.
She was defending process.
The distinction seemed unpopular.
The investigation uncovered more.