"Sometimes there is."
She looked down.
"This time there wasn't."
We sat quietly for a moment.
Then she asked whether I regretted taking the case.
The question surprised me.
I thought about the highway.
The baton.
The handcuffs.
The fear.
Then I thought about the recovered equipment, the exposed fraud, and the people who had finally been heard.
"No," I said.
She studied my face.
"Even after everything?"
I nodded.
"I regret what happened to me. I don't regret investigating what happened to the government property."
Her eyes filled.
"I was afraid you'd blame me."
I shook my head.
"Elise, you didn't order that stop. You didn't hurt me. You didn't threaten Ruth."
She swallowed.
"You brought evidence to people whose job was to examine it."
I smiled faintly.
"That's what responsible people are supposed to do."
She nodded.
Then we spent the rest of the afternoon talking about ordinary things.
Her garden.
My father's cooking.
The vacations neither of us had managed to take.
And the strange relief of having a conversation that didn't involve stolen equipment, lawyers, or court documents.
Miles left the county sheriff's department.
His cooperation had helped investigators, but the experience also forced him to reconsider what kind of officer he wanted to become. He completed additional training, accepted the findings relating to his delayed intervention, and eventually moved into work emphasizing professional standards and evidence preservation.
He did not become famous.
He did not receive a medal for making the radio call.
He had never asked for one.
When we met again, he was working with an oversight-focused training program that used real cases to teach young officers how to recognize and respond to misconduct.
He approached me after a public discussion about accountability.
"Special Agent Cole."
I turned.
"Miles."
He looked nervous.
I smiled faintly.
"It's all right. You can say hello."
He laughed.
"Hello."
We spoke for several minutes.
Then he asked whether I had fully recovered.
"Mostly."
He nodded.
"I'm glad."
For a moment, he seemed uncertain.
Then he said, "I read your letter a lot."
I looked toward him.
"Which part?"
He swallowed.
"The part about having courage before things become an emergency."
I nodded.
He looked down.
"I think about that every time I talk to new officers."
I studied him.
"Good."
He hesitated.
Then asked, "Do you think I can still do some good?"
I considered the question carefully.
"Yes."
He looked surprised.
I continued.
"But it isn't enough to remember what happened once. You have to remember it when your next difficult decision arrives."
He nodded.
"I know."
I extended my hand.
He shook it.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then I said, "Take care, Miles."
He smiled faintly.
"You too, Special Agent."