“You didn't have identification.”
“My identification was in the vehicle.”
“Which you claim belongs to you.”
“It does.”
“Then prove it.”
Danielle stared at him.
There was something almost theatrical about the absurdity of the situation.
“I already told you. My license is in my purse.”
“And your purse is in the SUV.”
“Yes.”
“And the SUV is supposedly yours.”
“Yes.”
“So we're back where we started.”
“No,” Danielle said quietly.
“We're not.”
Mulligan raised an eyebrow.
“You opened the glove compartment.”
He said nothing.
“My registration was there.”
“I didn't see anything.”
“You did.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
“I'm saying you saw my registration.”
Mulligan pushed back from the desk.
“Counselor, you're making this more complicated than it needs to be.”
Danielle almost smiled.
That was what people said when they wanted to end a conversation without answering the question.
She sat across from him.
“I want the arrest report.”
“You'll get it.”
“I want the reason for detention.”
“You'll get that too.”
“I want the name and badge number of the officer who called this in.”
Mulligan stared at her.
“I made the arrest.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you need my badge number?”
“So I can document who arrested me.”
His jaw tightened.
“You really think you're going to intimidate me with legal language?”
“No.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Protecting the record.”
The room went quiet.
Mulligan looked at her for several seconds.
Then he stood.
“Wait here.”
He walked away.
Danielle watched him disappear through a door.
She slowly looked around.
A camera was mounted in the corner.
She smiled faintly.
That mattered.
Not because she wanted revenge.
Because evidence mattered.
Ten minutes later, another officer entered.
His name was Officer Harris.
He carried a file.
“Ms. Lawson?”
“Yes.”
“I've been asked to process your intake.”
“May I ask something?”
“Sure.”
“Did you review the registration?”
Harris looked down.
“Yes.”
“And?”
He hesitated.
“It appears the vehicle is registered to Danielle Lawson.”
Danielle stared at him.
“That's me.”
“I understand.”
“Then why am I still here?”
Harris looked uncomfortable.
“I don't know.”
“Does the plate return stolen?”
“No.”
“Does the VIN return stolen?”
“No.”
“Is there a warrant for my arrest?”
“No.”
“Then what is the basis for the theft suspicion?”
Harris looked at the report.
“The original officer reported that the vehicle was occupied by someone who appeared to be in possession of a vehicle registered to another individual.”
Danielle's eyes narrowed.
“Another individual?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Harris turned the page.
“Name listed on the original complaint is Evelyn Parker.”
Danielle froze.
“Evelyn Parker?”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
Danielle leaned forward.
“Officer Harris, Evelyn Parker is my former business partner.”
Harris looked surprised.
Danielle continued.
“We owned a company together.”
“What happened?”
“She left eighteen months ago.”
“Could she have reported the vehicle stolen?”
“She couldn't.”
“Why?”
“Because she never owned it.”
Harris looked at the report again.
“That's what I'm trying to understand.”
Danielle's mind was already moving.
Evelyn Parker.
The company.
The SUV.
The police call.
Something wasn't right.
“Officer Harris, can you tell me who reported the vehicle?”
He hesitated.
“Dispatch has a name.”
“Whose?”
“Evelyn Parker.”
Danielle leaned back.
The room suddenly felt colder.
Evelyn had not merely been her former business partner.
She had been the person who had tried to destroy Danielle's career eighteen months earlier.
They had built Lawson Parker Legal Consulting together.
When their partnership dissolved, Evelyn had accused Danielle of misusing company funds.
An audit had proven the accusation false.
The matter had been settled.
Evelyn had disappeared from Danielle's professional life.
Or so Danielle had thought.
Now, somehow, Evelyn's name had appeared in a police report claiming Danielle had stolen her own SUV.
Danielle closed her eyes.
There was more to this.
Much more.
A door opened.
Mulligan returned.
“Good news,” he said.
Danielle looked up.
“You're being released.”
She waited.
“Charges are being reviewed.”
“Charges?”
“Vehicle theft suspicion.”
“The registration is in my name.”
“We've verified that.”
“And the VIN isn't stolen.”
“Correct.”
“Then why was I arrested?”
Mulligan looked at her.
“Confusion.”
Danielle stared at him.
“Confusion?”
“Yes.”
“Officer, you handcuffed me in a public parking lot.”
“I did.”
“You told people I was suspected of vehicle theft.”
“I did.”
“You told me people like me don't become state attorneys.”
His expression tightened.
“That comment was taken out of context.”
“There was no context.”
Mulligan said nothing.
Danielle stood.
She held out her hands.
“I want the release paperwork.”
He gave it to her.
As she turned toward the door, Mulligan said:
“Sometimes it's better to let things go.”
Danielle stopped.
She looked over her shoulder.
“For whom?”
He didn't answer.
She walked out.
Outside the station, the afternoon sun had begun to fade.
Her SUV waited in the parking lot.
She stood beside it for several seconds.
Then she opened the driver's door.
Her purse was still inside.
Her license was still there.
Her registration was still in the glove compartment.
She pulled out her phone.
There were eleven missed calls.
Seven from her office.
Two from her sister.
One from the governor's legal affairs office.
And one from an unfamiliar number.
Danielle called it.
A man's voice answered.
“Ms. Lawson?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Daniel Reeves. I'm with Internal Affairs.”
Danielle became still.
“Why is Internal Affairs calling me?”
“Because Officer Mulligan's report doesn't match the dispatch recording.”
She looked toward the precinct.
“What does the recording say?”
Reeves paused.
“It says he was told before the arrest that the vehicle was registered to you.”
Danielle's eyes hardened.
“And he arrested me anyway.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“We're trying to find out.”
Danielle looked down at her bruised wrists.
“Then you're going to need more than his report.”
“What do you have?”
“Everything.”
The Missing Name
The next morning, Danielle returned to her office before sunrise.
Her office overlooked downtown from the twenty-second floor.
Usually she loved the view.
That morning, she barely noticed it.
She placed a folder on her desk.