Not the precinct. Here. Yes, your honor. Immediately. Hayes said, frantically keying his shoulder mic.
Pete, the tow truck driver, having successfully detached the Chevrolet, began slowly creeping backward toward his cab, hoping to vanish into the crisp autumn morning. And son, Harrison called out without looking back. Pete froze mid-step. Yes, sir. You can leave.
But expect a subpoena for your testimony regarding the requested impoundment. Do not delete your dispatch logs, Harrison instructed. Pete nodded vigorously, practically diving into the cab of his massive yellow truck, and speeding away down Oakwood Lane faster than a vehicle that size had any right to move. Harrison leaned back against the tailgate of his Chevy, crossed his arms over his chest, and settled in to wait. The storm had passed.
Now came the reckoning. The flashing blue and red strobes painted the manicured lawns of Kensington Heights in a frantic, chaotic light. Within 20 minutes, the quiet suburban street had been transformed into a staging ground for the upper echelons of the city's law enforcement apparatus. Three unmarked black SUVs had arrived, tires screeching, boxing in Miller's patrol car. Chief of Police Robert Mitchell practically fell out of the lead SUV.
Mitchell was a man who had spent the last decade carefully managing his political image, desperately angling for a mayoral run. He was dressed in a tailored suit, having been pulled away from a Saturday morning fundraising brunch. His face was slick with a cold, terrified sweat. Following closely behind him were two grim-faced detectives from Internal Affairs, carrying heavy black binders. Chief Mitchell knew exactly who Judge Harrison Caldwell was.
Just 6 months prior, Caldwell had presided over a massive, highly publicized civil rights lawsuit involving the neighboring county's sheriff's department. Caldwell had systematically dismantled the department's corrupt union practices, issuing a sweeping consent decree that forced the resignation of dozens of officers. The judge was known in legal circles as brilliant, uncompromising, and absolutely terrifying when his patience was tested. Mitchell sprinted up the driveway, bypassing Miller and Hayes entirely, and stopped 3 ft from where Harrison was still leaning casually against the tailgate of his truck. Judge Caldwell.
Chief Mitchell gasped, trying to catch his breath, his hands trembling as he smoothed his silk tie. Your honor, I I was briefed by dispatch. I came as quickly as I could. I cannot apologize profoundly enough for this appalling, inexcusable breach of protocol. Harrison did not extend his hand.
He merely looked at the chief with a steady, unblinking gaze. Protocol, Chief Mitchell. Protocol is failing to file paperwork on time. Protocol is wearing the wrong uniform tie. What happened here this morning was not a breach of protocol.