“Sergeant.”
“What?”
“Your body camera is active?”
Wells smirked.
“You worried?”
“No.”
Adrian slipped the license into his wallet.
“I want the recording preserved.”
Wells’s smile faded slightly.
“You threatening to sue?”
“I made a preservation request.”
“You really are a lawyer.”
“Yes.”
Wells looked toward the blood on Adrian’s cheek.
“You fell.”
Adrian stared at him.
“No.”
Pike looked at the pavement.
Wells continued.
“You lost your balance when we were detaining you.”
“No.”
“You calling me a liar?”
Adrian’s voice remained almost gentle.
“I’m telling you what happened.”
Wells stepped closer.
“Get in your car and leave.”
Adrian did not move.
“Am I free to go?”
Wells laughed.
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Adrian walked back to the sedan.
His hands trembled when he reached the driver’s door.
Not visibly enough for Wells to notice.
But Adrian noticed.
He sat behind the wheel.
Locked the door.
Then remained still.
The patrol cruiser pulled away after two minutes.
Adrian waited another five.
Only after the taillights disappeared did he touch his cheek.
His fingers came away with blood.
The cut was shallow.
The humiliation was not.
Adrian leaned his head against the seat.
He could call someone.
Federal Protective Service.
The U.S. Marshals Service.
The chief judge.
A friend in the U.S. Attorney’s Office.
Any one of those calls would change Wells’s night immediately.
Adrian picked up his phone.
Then stopped.
His grandfather again.
Power and character.
He looked at the dashboard clock.
12:31 a.m.
His investiture ceremony had occurred privately the previous week.
Tomorrow was not ceremonial.
There would be defendants.
Lawyers.
Witnesses.
Families.
He had taken an oath to administer justice without respect to persons.
That promise included people he disliked.
It included people who harmed him.
Adrian opened the camera application.
He photographed his cheek.
His wrists.
The torn sleeve near his elbow.
Then he stepped from the car and photographed the location.
Pump number four.
The cruiser parking area.
The surveillance cameras mounted above the station.
He walked inside.
The teenage clerk looked alarmed.
“Sir, you okay?”
“I will be.”
The boy looked toward the blood.
“What did you do?”
“I’m going to ask you an unusual favor.”
“Okay.”
“Do your cameras record this parking lot?”
“Yes.”
“How long is footage retained?”
The boy hesitated.
“I don’t know. Maybe thirty days.”
“Do you know your manager?”
“Yes.”
Adrian removed a business card.
Not his new judicial card.
An older attorney card.
“Please give this to the manager and tell him not to erase anything from tonight.”
The clerk took it.
“Are you suing the cops?”
Adrian almost smiled.
“I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”
The boy looked at him.
“They were rough with you.”