And when she said she was the state attorney, he laughed.
That was how a routine shopping trip became the beginning of a case that would eventually reach the highest levels of the state justice system.
Not because Danielle had committed a crime.
Not because the evidence was complicated.
But because the man who had the authority to investigate had decided that the truth was less important than his assumptions.
Chapter 2: The Ride to Central Precinct
The inside of the patrol car smelled of old upholstery, disinfectant, and something faintly metallic.
Danielle sat upright in the back seat, her hands cuffed behind her.
She had been arrested before in her professional capacity only in the sense that she had studied hundreds of arrest reports, interviewed witnesses, and examined cases in which officers had made questionable decisions.
She had never imagined herself sitting on the other side of the partition.
She tried to keep her breathing steady.
Her wrists hurt.
The cuffs were cutting into her skin, and every small movement made the pressure worse.
“Officer,” she called through the partition, “the handcuffs are causing pain.”
Mulligan glanced at her in the rearview mirror.
“You'll be fine.”
“They are too tight. Could you loosen them?”
“Stop moving.”
“I am not moving unnecessarily.”
“Then sit still.”
Danielle fell silent.
She knew arguing would not help. She also knew that remaining silent could later be interpreted as an absence of objection. She wanted the facts documented, but she did not want to provoke him into escalating the situation.
She spoke carefully.
“For the record, I have informed you that the handcuffs are too tight and are causing pain.”
Mulligan laughed under his breath.
“For the record?”
“Yes.”
“You planning to sue me?”
“I am asking you to loosen the handcuffs.”
“That's not what I asked.”
“And I don't see how your question is relevant to my request.”
His face appeared in the mirror again.
“You think you're smarter than everyone, don't you?”
“No.”
“You've got an answer for everything.”
“I am trying to communicate clearly.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before stealing a car.”
Danielle closed her eyes for a moment.
“I did not steal a car.”
“That's what we'll see.”
He turned up the radio.
The conversation was over.
Danielle looked out through the small window.
A father was walking with his young daughter along the sidewalk. The girl was holding a balloon, and her father was carrying a paper bag from a bakery.
For an instant, Danielle imagined herself stepping out of the patrol car and walking toward them. She imagined explaining that the situation was a mistake and asking them to witness what had happened.
Then the thought disappeared.
She was in custody.
The man driving the car controlled where she went, when she got out, and who could speak to her.
That was the reality.
Her professional title could not change it.
Her education could not change it.
Her knowledge of the law could not make the door open.
She had to get through the encounter without allowing her anger to dictate her next move.
At a red light, Mulligan's phone rang.
He answered through the vehicle's system.
“Yeah?”
A man's voice came through faintly.
“Did you get her?”
“Yeah. She's in the back.”
“Good. I told you she was acting suspicious.”
Mulligan glanced at Danielle.
“Looks like we might have something.”
The caller said something else, but Danielle couldn't make out the words.
Mulligan laughed.
“Don't worry. I'll handle it.”
He ended the call.
Danielle stared at the partition.
The caller.
The man in the parking lot.
They knew each other.
Or at least, they seemed comfortable enough to discuss her arrest as if it were a foregone conclusion.
She wanted to ask who had called, but she decided to wait.
There was another issue she needed to understand.
“Officer Mulligan?”
“What now?”
“Have you checked the vehicle's registration?”
“I told you, we're handling it.”
“That isn't an answer.”
He hit the brakes harder than necessary as the light changed.
“You want to make this difficult?”
“No. I want to make sure the correct information is being considered.”
“You should have thought of that earlier.”
“I did. I offered you the registration before you arrested me.”
Mulligan said nothing.
A few minutes later, he turned into the entrance of Central Precinct.
The building was a rectangular structure of gray concrete and dark glass. Two officers stood outside near the main doors. A man in a wrinkled shirt was sitting on a bench, speaking quietly into his phone.
Mulligan parked in the secure lot.
He got out, walked around, and opened Danielle's door.
“Out.”
She moved slowly, trying to avoid putting additional pressure on her wrists.
He caught her arm.
“I can stand on my own,” she said.
“Then do it.”
She stepped down.
The sun was brighter outside than it had seemed through the tinted window.
Mulligan guided her toward the entrance.
Inside, the air was cold. A television played silently in one corner, and several people sat in plastic chairs near the reception desk.
A woman behind the counter looked up.
“Booking?”
“Vehicle theft,” Mulligan said.
The woman glanced at Danielle.
“Name?”
“Danielle Lawson.”
The clerk began typing.
“Date of birth?”
Danielle gave it.
“Address?”
She answered.
The clerk continued.
Then she paused.
“Is this correct?”
She turned the monitor slightly toward herself, checking the information again.
Mulligan leaned over.
“What?”
“The name and date of birth match a record in our system.”
“Okay.”
The clerk looked at him.
“It's a state government employment record.”
Mulligan waved a hand.
“She says she's an attorney.”
The clerk looked back at Danielle.
“Do you work for the Attorney General's Office?”
“Yes.”
The clerk's expression changed.
“Which division?”
“Civil Rights and Public Integrity.”