I read it, put it away, and opened the first file.
The person whose name appeared there deserved attention to that record.
I began with the date of the notice.
The administrative findings arrived seven weeks after the encounter.
The department sustained allegations of improper detention, unauthorized force, and material untruthfulness in the employment inquiry. A separate review addressed Sloane's handling of earlier concerns.
Harlan recommended Briggs's dismissal.
The association challenged the action through the available appeal process.
That was not evidence that the findings meant nothing. It was the procedure through which they would be tested before a hearing officer who did not work for the chief.
I understood that distinction before the first reporter asked whether I felt betrayed by the appeal.
“No,” I told Paul afterward. “I feel tired.”
“That's an answer you can keep private.”
For once, I did.
The appeal notice included dates for exchanging exhibits and identifying witnesses. I marked them on a separate calendar from court business. The distinction helped until an ordinary hearing ran late and I found myself worrying about my own preparation while someone else was asking for a decision. I stopped, took a short recess, and returned when I could give the matter the attention it required.
The hearing was scheduled at a county administrative building several streets from the courthouse. Retired Judge Helena Ward would preside. Department counsel Rachel Lin would present the employment case. Warren Price would represent Briggs.
I recognized Price's name from other matters. He was skilled, patient, and entirely entitled to test my account.
Knowing that did not make the prospect comfortable.
Paul prepared me without asking me to memorize a performance. We reviewed my statements, identified differences that needed honest explanation, and discussed how to distinguish what I remembered from what I later learned.
He stopped me whenever I answered a question that had not been asked.
“You're accustomed to deciding what matters,” he said. “On the stand, you need to listen to the question before supplying the record you'd rather address.”
“I know how cross-examination works.”
“Yes. You know it from the side with a table.”
He let me be annoyed for a minute.
Then we continued.
The hardest preparation involved my refusal to open the briefcase.
I expected that choice to become the center of the defense. It was visible, simple, and available for anyone who wanted an alternative to asking why Briggs ignored the description.
Paul asked me why I had declined.
I gave the answer I had already provided.
He asked whether showing the card might have ended the encounter.
“Yes,” I said. “It might have.”
“Can you admit that without accepting that the strike was justified?”
I thought about it.
“Yes.”
“Then do that.”
We also discussed memory. The shock had left some words clear and other seconds less organized. I had reviewed documents and recordings since the event. I would say when information came from those sources rather than pretending it had always been in my head.
Accuracy felt less impressive than an unbroken account.
That was why it mattered.
Meanwhile, courthouse conversations became more difficult. Some employees treated the hearing as an ordeal imposed on the building. Others expected it to expose every problem anyone had ever experienced there.
Neither expectation would help the evidence.
Ruth kept my schedule manageable around witness preparation. She did not ask whether I was afraid until we were alone late one afternoon.
“Yes,” I said.
She nodded and continued sorting the next day's files.
I appreciated the absence of a speech.
Sam came to chambers carrying an envelope with his retirement paperwork.
“I thought you should hear it from me.”
“Is this because of the inquiry?”
“The date was already coming.”
“That wasn't my question.”
He sat down.
“It made me stop moving the date.”
His sister had invited him on a long train trip the previous spring. He canceled because two new bailiffs needed training. Before that, he postponed visiting a friend because the summer list was understaffed.
There was always a reason the building needed him.
There was also a limit to what he owed it.
“I'll testify,” he said. “Then someone else can learn which door sticks when it rains.”
I wanted to tell him no one could replace him.
It would have sounded kind and made the same claim that had kept him postponing his life.
Instead, I asked whether the train tickets were refundable.
“No.”
“Good.”
He smiled.