He walked deliberately into the glare of the police headlights, holding his smartphone up. "Actually, Sergeant Mitchell," Tim said, his voice clear and unwavering. "That is a complete fabrication. " Dunn lunged forward. "Put that phone down, boy, or I swear to Stand down, Dunn," Mitchell bellowed, stepping between the officer and the cler. "Son, who are you? " "My name is Timothy Hillard.
I am Judge Covington's senior law clerk. " Tim said, adjusting his glasses. And I have been recording this entire encounter from the moment Officer Dunn initiated the stop. There was no swerving. There is no marijuana. Officer Dunn fabricated probable cause, threatened physical violence against both of us, and illegally detained the judge.
The footage is already uploaded to a secure legal database. Dunn looked like he was going to be sick right there on the asphalt. Is this true, Dunn? " Mitchell asked, his voice deathly quiet. "Is your body camera on? " Dunn swallowed hard, looking down at his chest. "It it malfunctioned, Sarge. " "Battery died. " Valerie offered a cold, knowing smile.
"How convenient! Fortunately, Mr. Hillard's battery is fully charged. " Sergeant Mitchell, I expect a formal internal affairs investigation to be opened by 8:00 a.m. tomorrow. Now, if we are done here, my clerk and I would like to go home. Yes, your honor.
Of course, Mitchell said, bowing his head slightly. I will personally escort you to city limits, and I promise you this will be handled. As Valerie walked back to her car, she paused, looking back at Dunn. The arrogant bully who had threatened her just 10 minutes ago was now shivering in the rain. A hollow shell of a man.
You asked me earlier whose car I was driving. Officer Dunn, Valerie said softly. You assumed I didn't belong behind the wheel. Tomorrow you are going to learn exactly who I am. Have a good night.
By 9:00 a.m. the next morning, the storm had passed, leaving behind a crisp, sunny Georgia morning. But inside the headquarters of the Oakmont Police Department, a category 5 hurricane had just made landfall. Sitting at the head of a massive mahogany conference table was Chief Henderson. To his left sat Mayor Hayes, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off a migraine. To his right was attorney Robert Lawson, a powerhouse civil rights litigator whom Valerie had retained at 6:00 a.m.
In the center of the table, an iPad was playing the crystal-clear high-definition footage Tim had captured. The video played Dun's snarling voice at maximum volume. I don't need to explain a damn thing to you. I will pull you out through this window. We're going to see exactly who you are, Valerie.
When the video ended, the room was shrouded in a heavy, suffocating silence. Chief Henderson, Attorney Lawson began neatly folding his hands. My client was illegally detained, physically assaulted, and subjected to blatant racial profiling and manufactured probable cause. "But that is actually the least of your problems today," Chief Henderson frowned. What do you mean, Robert?