Attorneys would want language.
Residents would want justice.
Everyone would arrive with a definition of justice convenient to whatever had happened to them.
She accepted anyway.
Not because she believed she could fix policing.
She disliked people who described complicated institutions as things one person could fix.
She accepted because the complaints were serious enough to deserve a process nobody inside the department controlled.
Her appointment had not yet been publicly announced.
That was intentional.
The city attorney wanted the first meeting completed before issuing a press release.
Only command staff, the mayor’s office, the review committee, and several administrative employees knew her identity.
Patrol officers had been told only that an independent investigator was beginning work that week.
That detail would matter later.
At eight-thirty that morning, she had read the final pre-meeting briefing.
At nine-fifteen, she closed the laptop.
At nine-twenty, she made coffee.
At nine-thirty, she stepped outside.
Gardening gave her something investigations rarely did.
Visible cause and effect.
Water the soil.
Remove dead leaves.
Trim carefully.
Wait.
She wore a pale-yellow knit cardigan, matching skirt, simple top, silver necklaces, and the crochet hat her younger sister had given her after a vacation.
Her sister had laughed when she opened it.
“You own too much beige.”
“This is yellow.”
“Exactly. Growth.”
She had been smiling about that while watering white hydrangeas when she heard the side gate strike the stone column.
She turned.
Two police officers entered.
No knock.
No announcement before opening the gate.
The lead officer walked quickly.
His partner followed several feet behind.
The homeowner released the hose trigger.
“Can I help you?”
The lead officer looked her over.
Not the flowers.
Not the hose.
Her.
“Who are you?”
She frowned.
“I live here.”
“We got a call about someone entering this property.”
“You found her.”
That answer seemed to irritate him.
“What?”
“I entered the property. I live here.”
“Identification.”
She pointed toward the table.
“My phone and wallet are right there.”
“Don’t move.”
“I’m not.”
He looked toward the rear doors.
The expensive house had large glass panels opening onto the patio.
Inside, the kitchen was clearly visible.
Mail rested on the counter.
A pair of women’s sandals sat beside the door.
Nothing suggested forced entry.
The partner looked toward the garden.
“Caller give a description?”
The lead officer answered:
“Female. Backyard.”
“That’s it?”
“Suspicious female entering through the side gate.”
The homeowner stared.
“That is the entire report?”
The officer looked at her.