Not only people stopped by Malloy.
People with different backgrounds.
Different vehicles.
Different reasons for being detained.
Yet many described the same towing company.
And several described temporary driver's licenses being rejected even when the motor vehicle agency later confirmed their validity.
Naomi lifted her head.
"Dad, how many people did Leonard talk to?"
Isaiah looked toward the window.
"Before he died?"
"Yes."
"At least nineteen."
Naomi stared.
"Nineteen?"
He nodded.
"And he said there were more."
She turned another page.
There were names.
Telephone numbers.
Dates.
Descriptions of stops.
And beside several entries, three initials appeared repeatedly.
D.M.
Naomi already knew what they meant.
Derek Malloy.
She placed the notebook on the table.
Then looked at her father.
"This wasn't just about Leonard's car."
Isaiah shook his head.
"No."
Naomi glanced toward the darkening windows.
The lake beyond the house reflected the last orange light of the evening.
Her father leaned forward.
"That's why I called you."
For a moment, Naomi did not speak.
Then she looked down at the documents again.
The afternoon's roadside confrontation had been frightening.
Humiliating.
And deeply wrong.
But it had also exposed a question that could not be answered by disciplining one officer.
If Leonard Price had been right, a network of decisions had been causing similar harm for years.
And somewhere inside those records might be the explanation for why so many complaints had accomplished so little.
Naomi closed the notebook carefully.
She looked at her father.
"All right."
Isaiah waited.
She placed one hand over the folder.
"Let's start with what we can prove."
The next morning, Naomi woke before sunrise.
For several seconds, she did not remember where she was.
The room smelled faintly of cedarwood and laundry detergent. A framed photograph of her mother stood on the dresser. Beside it was a ceramic lighthouse Naomi had painted when she was eleven.
Then she remembered the country road.
The torn license.
The dented door.
Malloy's hand gripping her arm.
Her chest tightened.
She sat up.
The room was quiet.
Outside, a lawn sprinkler clicked rhythmically across the grass.