“No.”
Maya stopped pacing.
Sloane looked at her.
“If I worked at Target, the arrest would still be wrong if the facts are what I remember.”
Maya’s anger softened.
“Yes.”
“If I were unemployed, it would still be wrong.”
“Yes.”
“If I had a criminal record, the deed would still be mine.”
“Yes.”
Sloane leaned back.
“I’m not letting this become a story where dignity was retroactively awarded because I had a federal title.”
Maya sat.
“That’s why you’re better than me.”
“No.”
Sloane looked at the cracked screen of her phone.
“I’m just the person it happened to.”
By noon, Fairview Police announced an internal investigation.
Officer Harlan was placed on administrative leave.
Officer Quinn remained on duty pending review.
Sloane disliked both decisions.
One felt automatic.
The other premature.
She told nobody.
At 1:40, she received a call from the Department of Justice’s Office of Professional Responsibility.
Wrong jurisdiction.
Then from the Civil Rights Division.
More appropriate.
Then from the county prosecutor.
Then the state attorney general’s office.
By three, Sloane had declined four interviews.
Her office released a statement.
It said almost nothing.
Deputy Chief Mercer was involved in an incident with local law enforcement. Because potential legal and ethical matters may arise, she will have no supervisory role in any related investigation. The office has taken steps to ensure independence and preserve relevant evidence.
Sloane approved every word.
Then removed herself from three active cases involving Fairview Police.
That hurt.
One of those cases was a procurement investigation she had spent nine months building.
But conflict rules existed for moments when compliance was inconvenient.
Otherwise they were decoration.
At 5:12, someone knocked.
Sloane expected Maya.
It was Officer Quinn.
Not in uniform.
Jeans.
Gray jacket.
Hands empty.
Sloane did not open the screen door.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
He looked exhausted.
“I need to tell you something.”
“No.”
His face tightened.
“Please.”
“If it relates to the investigation, tell internal affairs. Tell your lawyer. Tell the independent prosecutor.”
“I tried.”
Sloane stared.
“What does that mean?”
Quinn glanced toward the street.
“They’re already telling us not to speculate.”
“That is normal.”
“No.”
His voice lowered.
“They’re telling us what happened.”
Sloane’s attention sharpened.
“Explain.”
Quinn swallowed.
“Sergeant called me this afternoon. Said my report should reflect that you pulled away from Harlan, refused to provide identification, and attempted to retreat into the residence.”
Sloane felt cold.
“What did you say?”
“That isn’t what happened.”
“Then?”
“He told me memory changes under stress.”
Sloane almost laughed.
Of course.
A true sentence weaponized for false purpose.
“What does your body camera show?”
Quinn looked sick.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Sloane waited.
“Harlan’s camera was off for the first part.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Yours?”
“On.”
“All of it?”