The irony was almost unbelievable.
But the most important question wasn't who Naomi was.
It was why Rourke had ignored the evidence after seeing it.
And before the night was over, Naomi would discover that her arrest had not been an accident.
Someone had wanted her in that police car.
And someone had been waiting for the opportunity.
The police station was colder than Naomi remembered.
She had entered the building many times before.
Usually through the front entrance.
Usually carrying a case file.
Usually greeted by officers who knew her.
This time, she entered through a side door with handcuffs around her wrists.
Officer Rourke sat behind a desk while another officer prepared paperwork.
Naomi remained standing.
“My name is Naomi Carter,” she said.
“I know what you said.”
“No. You don't understand.”
Rourke didn't look up.
“I understand that you claim the vehicle is yours.”
“I don't claim it. It is mine.”
“Then we'll verify it.”
“You already saw the registration.”
“Ma'am, you're making this harder than it needs to be.”
Naomi almost smiled.
That sentence was one she had heard hundreds of times from officers questioning frightened citizens.
The person with power always seemed to describe resistance as the problem.
Not the accusation.
Not the unnecessary detention.
Not the refusal to verify basic facts.
The problem was always the person being questioned.
A younger officer approached with a clipboard.
“Sir, dispatch is asking whether we have confirmed ownership.”
Rourke's expression changed.
“I'll handle it.”
The younger officer hesitated.
“Okay.”
He walked away.
Naomi noticed.
So did Rourke.
“You're very observant,” he said.
“It's part of my job.”
“What job?”
Naomi looked directly at him.
“I'm an attorney.”
Rourke smiled.
“A lot of people say that.”
“I work for the state.”
“Sure.”
Naomi felt something inside her harden.
“You don't believe me.”
“I'm not interested in your résumé.”
“That's unfortunate.”
“What?”
“Because my résumé explains why I know you're violating procedure.”
Rourke leaned back.
“You want to threaten me?”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like you're above the law.”
Naomi's voice remained calm.
“I am not above the law. Neither are you.”
The room became quiet.
Rourke stared at her.
Then he pushed a piece of paper across the desk.
“This is the incident report.”
Naomi looked down.
She immediately saw the problem.
The report stated that she had refused to identify herself.
That she had become verbally aggressive.
That she had repeatedly attempted to access the vehicle after being instructed not to.
And that she had failed to provide documentation proving ownership.
Naomi looked up.
“Who wrote this?”
“I did.”
“Then it's false.”
Rourke's jaw tightened.
“You should be careful.”
“I am.”
“You're accusing an officer of falsifying a report.”
“You wrote that I refused identification.”
“You did.”
“I asked to retrieve my license.”
“You refused to cooperate.”
“You prevented me from retrieving it.”
Rourke said nothing.
Naomi pointed toward the report.
“You wrote that I attempted to access the vehicle after being instructed not to.”
“You did.”
“I was standing beside my own car.”
“You were acting suspiciously.”
“Suspiciously is not a crime.”
Rourke leaned forward.
“You seem very confident.”
“I am.”
“Why?”
Naomi looked directly into his eyes.
“Because I know the law.”
The door opened.
A detective entered.
He was older, perhaps sixty, with silver hair and a tired expression.
“What's going on?”
Rourke stood.
“Nothing. I'll handle it.”
The detective glanced at Naomi.
Then at the report.
Then at Rourke.
“What's her name?”
“Naomi Carter.”
The detective froze.
“Naomi Carter?”
“Yes.”
He looked at Naomi again.
“Are you the deputy attorney general?”
Naomi nodded.
The detective slowly turned toward Rourke.
“You arrested her?”
Rourke's face changed.
“I had reasonable suspicion.”
The detective looked at the registration.
“Did you verify the vehicle?”
“I saw the registration.”
“Then why is she here?”
Rourke didn't answer.
The detective picked up the paperwork.
He read it carefully.
Then he looked at Naomi.
“Ms. Carter, may I speak with you privately?”
“Yes.”
The detective led her into a small conference room.
“My name is Samuel Brooks,” he said.
“I know who you are.”
That surprised him.
“I've seen your name on several case files.”
Brooks sat down.
“So have I seen yours.”
Naomi looked at him.
“Then you know why I'm concerned.”
“I do.”
Brooks opened a folder.
“There was an anonymous call from the shopping center.”
“What did the caller say?”
“That a Black woman was attempting to steal a black sedan.”
“Did the caller provide a plate number?”
“No.”
“A description of the woman?”
“Yes.”
“What description?”
Brooks hesitated.
“Black woman. Professional clothing. Expensive vehicle.”
Naomi closed her eyes.
“That's it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Then why did Rourke arrest me?”
Brooks looked uncomfortable.
“I don't know.”
Naomi studied him.
“Check the dispatch recording.”
He did.
Minutes later, Brooks returned.
His expression was different.
“There is something.”
“What?”
“The caller mentioned you looked nervous.”
“I was looking for my folder.”
“The folder was visible in your back seat.”
Naomi nodded.
“Exactly.”
Brooks lowered his voice.
“There was another detail.”
“What?”
“The caller didn't simply say you were suspicious.”
He placed the transcript on the table.
“The caller said, ‘She doesn't belong in that car.’”
Silence.
Naomi stared at the words.
Not stolen.
Not breaking in.
Not damaging property.
Didn't belong.
She had heard those words in different forms her entire life.