“That’s a more honest place to start.”
Lillian met her eyes.
“Do you forgive me?”
Sloane considered.
“Forgiveness isn’t really what I need from this.”
“What do you need?”
“For you to notice next time.”
Lillian nodded.
“I will.”
Sloane smiled slightly.
“Then dinner is a good start.”
Two years later, Sloane became Chief of the Criminal Division.
The promotion changed her office.
Not much else.
More meetings.
More crises.
More prosecutors asking permission to make decisions they were already qualified to make.
Her hydrangeas became enormous.
She learned how to mow her own lawn badly.
She finally bought dining chairs.
Walsh considered that her greatest professional achievement.
One Saturday morning, Sloane was outside pruning flowers when a patrol cruiser slowed.
Her body reacted immediately.
A small tightening in her chest.
Memory.
The cruiser stopped.
A young Black female officer stepped out.
“Ms. Mercer?”
Sloane lowered the pruning shears.
“Yes.”
The officer smiled.
“I’m Officer Lena Price.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Nothing bad.”
“That’s encouraging.”
Price laughed.
“I’m new to the district.”
“Officer Quinn said I should introduce myself.”
Sloane raised an eyebrow.
“That sounds suspicious.”
“He said you’d say that.”
Price looked toward the hydrangeas.
“Those are beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“I kill plants.”
“Police work may be easier.”
Price smiled.
Then became serious.
“They showed your body-camera footage in training.”
Sloane’s expression changed.
“The whole thing?”
“Edited version.”
“Good.”
Price shifted.
“I wanted to tell you something.”
Sloane waited.
“The instructor stopped it right before Officer Harlan cuffed you.”
“He asked what we should do.”
“What did you say?”
“Run the property.”
Sloane smiled.
“Excellent.”
Price continued.
“Then he asked what we should do if our senior partner refused.”
That was the real question.
Sloane leaned against the porch column.
“What did you say?”
Price hesitated.
“I said I didn’t know.”
“Also excellent.”
The officer laughed.
“Really?”
“People get into trouble when they think uncertainty is weakness.”
Price nodded.
“The instructor said we intervene respectfully.”
“Document.”
“Call supervision if needed.”
“And if it’s clearly unlawful, we stop it.”
Sloane looked toward the street.
“That sounds better than two years ago.”
Price followed her gaze.
“Officer Quinn teaches that block now.”
Sloane smiled.
“I know.”
Five years after the arrest, Sloane received an envelope at work.
No return address she recognized.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Ms. Mercer,
You probably don’t want to hear from me.
I’m writing because I watched the footage again last week.
I had avoided it for years.
I kept remembering the incident the way I wrote it in my head.