Jenkins looked at Mitchell.
"Is he going to fire you?"
Mitchell stared at the disappearing taillights.
"I don't know."
Sergeant Miller said nothing.
But deep inside, all three men understood something.
The traffic stop was over.
The investigation had just begun.
By eight the next morning, Donovan Harper was sitting inside his office.
The city outside was waking up.
His office wasn't.
It was silent.
On his desk lay a thick folder.
Across the top were two words:
GREG MITCHELL
Donovan opened it.
The first complaint was from four years earlier.
Excessive force.
The second involved racial profiling.
The third involved an allegedly fabricated traffic violation.
The fourth involved a missing evidence report.
Donovan read every page.
Then he stopped.
There was a pattern.
Complaints had been filed.
Complaints had been investigated.
But almost every investigation had ended with the same conclusion.
Insufficient evidence.
Donovan leaned back.
He had suspected corruption.
Now he had something more dangerous.
A witness.
A recording.
And a firsthand account from his own wife.
At 9:15, Donovan called Internal Affairs.
"Send me Captain Reynolds."
Twenty minutes later, Captain Reynolds entered.
"You asked for me?"
"Close the door."
Reynolds did.
Donovan pushed a folder across the desk.
"Read this."
Reynolds opened it.
His face changed.
"This is Mitchell."
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"Last night he stopped my wife."
Reynolds looked up.
"Naomi?"
"Yes."
"Was she speeding?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"He claimed she was swerving."
Reynolds frowned.
"Was she?"
"No."
"And then?"
"He claimed to smell marijuana."
Reynolds slowly closed the folder.
"Did he search the car?"
"Yes."
"Without consent?"
"Yes."
"Did he find anything?"
"No."
Reynolds exhaled.
"Chief..."
Donovan raised a hand.
"I don't want sympathy."
He leaned forward.
"I want the truth."
Reynolds nodded.
"There are officers who believe Mitchell has friends in the department."
"Who?"
"I don't know."
"Find out."
"What are you planning?"
"An independent investigation."
Reynolds looked surprised.
"Not internal?"
"Not entirely."
Donovan stood.
"We have spent years investigating ourselves."
He pointed toward the folder.
"That stops today."
Meanwhile, Naomi was sitting in her law office.
Her colleague, Marcus Lee, had heard what happened.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not what I asked."
Naomi looked out the window.
"I'm angry."
"Because he stopped you?"
"Because he thought he could."
Marcus sat down.
"Your husband knows."
"Yes."
"And?"
"He wants evidence."
Marcus smiled.
"That's the police chief I remember."
Naomi didn't smile.
"He doesn't want this to become about us."
"What do you mean?"
"If people find out he was in the car, they'll say Mitchell behaved differently because he recognized Donovan."
Marcus nodded.
"That's possible."
"So Donovan wants the investigation to stand on its own."
"Smart."
Naomi looked down.
"The problem is, Marcus, this wasn't the first time."
He stared at her.
"What do you mean?"
"I've represented people who've described exactly this behavior."
"Mitchell?"
"Officers like him."
She paused.
"They intimidate people. They use the uncertainty of the law against people who don't know their rights. And sometimes they know the system will protect them."
Marcus nodded slowly.
"Then this could become bigger than Mitchell."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
The investigation uncovered something unexpected.
The dash-camera recording from Mitchell's patrol car had a gap.
Four minutes were missing.
Donovan stared at the report.
"Explain."
The technology supervisor shifted uncomfortably.
"The recording system shows a corrupted segment."
"How often does that happen?"
"Rarely."
"How rarely?"
The supervisor didn't answer.
Donovan looked at him.
"Exactly."
The department's information-security team recovered the original storage logs.
Someone had accessed the system.
At 2:47 a.m.
Less than an hour after the traffic stop.
Donovan's expression hardened.
"Who accessed the footage?"
The supervisor hesitated.
"Sergeant Miller."
Donovan leaned back.
"Bring him in."
Miller entered Donovan's office at 2:00 that afternoon.
He looked tired.
Donovan gestured toward a chair.