The investigator nearest me introduced herself as Special Agent Marisol Vega. She asked whether I could identify the officer who struck me.
I pointed at Johnson.
“The officer beside him damaged my motorcycle. Two others watched. They demanded cash before they arrested me.”
Vega wrote without reacting.
“Did you receive a citation?”
“No.”
“Were you advised of an actual charge?”
“They were still choosing.”
Across the room, Eli lowered his eyes.
I remembered him asking what the charges were. I also remembered that he had not opened my cell until the governor arrived.
Both things mattered.
Rachel guided me toward a chair. As I sat, something white fluttered beneath the booking counter: a torn corner of my wedding invitation.
Claire had spent three evenings choosing that paper.
I picked it up.