I am going to sue you personally. I am going to ensure that you never hold a position of authority over another human being for as long as you live. Braden felt a chill run down his spine, a cold prickle of doubt that he quickly shoved away. He shoved her head down. Watch your head.
And pushed her into the hard plastic seat of the patrol car. He slammed the door shut, sealing her in the cage. The back of a police cruiser is designed to dehumanize. The seats are hard molded plastic that forces the body into an unnatural slump. The partition is a thick scratched plexiglass wall that separates the clean world of the officer from the dirty world of the arrestee.
It smells of stale sweat industrial disinfectant and old fear. Evelyn Moore sat in that cage, her hands numb behind her back, her shoulders throbbing. But she did not cry. She did not hyperventilate. She closed her eyes and began to work.
Her mind was a steel trap honed by decades of legal scholarship. She began to draft the complaint in her head. Paragraph one. Plaintiff Evelyn Moore, a resident of Chestnut Hill. Paragraph two, defendant Kyle Braden acting under color of law.
Count one, false imprisonment. Count two, assault and battery. Count three, deprivation of rights under 42 U. S. C.
Section 1983. She memorized the details. She noted that Braden did not buckle her seat belt of violation of department policy. She noted that he was driving 10 m over the speed limit without his lights or sirens on. She listened to him breathing in the front seat the short shallow breaths of a man running on adrenaline and arrogance.
Braden didn't speak. He turned up the radio slightly. A country station playing a song about beer and trucks trying to drown out the silence. He was nervous. The neighbor's video bothered him.
The woman's confidence bothered him. A judge? No, it was impossible. Judges didn't walk dogs in tracksuits. Judges didn't get stopped by the police.
Judges were on his side. She was lying. She had to be. The ride to the precinct took 11 minutes. It was the longest 11 minutes of Braden's life, though he wouldn't admit it.
For Evelyn, it was simply a gathering of evidence. She cataloged every bump in the road that jarred her wrists. She cataloged the feeling of humiliation, not to wallow in it, but to quantify it for damages. When they pulled into the sallyport of the precinct, the automatic garage door rumbled shut behind them, plunging the bay into artificial fluorescent light. Braden killed the engine.
He got out and opened the rear door. "Let's go," he said. Evelyn swung her legs out. She stood up with difficulty, lacking her arms for balance. "I am requesting that you loosen these cuffs immediately," she said.
"My hands are losing sensation. We'll get them off inside," Braden muttered. He grabbed her arm again and led her through the heavy steel door into the booking area. The station was busy. Phones were ringing.
Officers were typing reports and the low murmur of bureaucracy filled the air. They walked past a row of holding cells and up to the main processing desk. behind the high counters at Sergeant Thomas Miller. Miller was 56, a man with gray hair, a punch, and weary eyes that had seen everything the city had to offer for 30 years. He was 2 years away from a pension and spent his days trying to ensure that the young hot shots didn't burn the place down. He was drinking coffee from a stained mug and reading a sports blog on his computer when Braden approached with his prisoner.
Miller looked up. He saw officer Braden looking flushed and defiant. Then he looked at the prisoner. He saw a black woman in a blue tracksuit. He saw the quality of the fabric.
He saw the expensive shoes. He saw the way she held her head, chin up, eyes clear, radiating a fury that was all the more terrifying for its silence. Miller frowned, his gut honed by three decades of police work twisted. "What you got, Braden? " Miller asked his voice grally.
Interference, disorderly failure to identify, Braden recited, placing a paper bag on the counter. Suspect refused to provide ID during a suspicious person stop. Resisted arrest. Miller looked at Evelyn. That true, ma'am.
It is entirely false, Sergeant, Evelyn said. Her voice rang out in the booking room, clear and authoritative. I was unlawfully detained while walking my dog. I asserted my Fourth Amendment rights. This officer assaulted me and kidnapped me.
Miller's eyebrows shot up. Kidnapped? That's a strong word. It is the legal definition of moving a person against their will without lawful authority. Evelyn replied, "I would like my handcuffs removed now.