Amara nodded.
“What about Ransom?”
Monroe’s jaw tightened. “He’s good in a fight, good on a bad crash, good when somebody’s shooting. He’s also been here long enough that people stopped asking whether he was right before deciding he was experienced.”
“Any history between you?”
“He thinks I got promoted because the county wanted a woman in command.”
“That answer the question?”
“Probably.”
At 9:40, the external review team arrived: two investigators from the state standards division and one digital-evidence specialist. Amara met them for five minutes, disclosed her personal involvement, and left them with Captain Monroe as department liaison. She then did something that surprised nearly everyone.
She drove to the tow yard.
The Bentley sat beneath a corrugated roof, plastic sheeting taped over all four window openings. In daylight the damage looked worse. Glass filled the seams of the seats. Rainwater had darkened the carpets. A scrape from the baton marked the chrome trim. The county attorney had suggested the government might cover the damage if liability were established. Amara had answered that the car would be handled like any citizen claim, not a special favor.
Calvin Shore met her with a memory card sealed inside a plastic sandwich bag.
“I didn’t watch it after I saved it,” he said. “Figured that’s smarter.”
“It is.”
“You doing okay?”
“I am.”
He glanced toward the Bentley. “I’d be furious.”
“I am furious.”
“You hide it well.”
“Anger is information. It is not a plan.”
Calvin nodded as though he intended to remember that.
While they waited for an investigator to collect the memory card, a woman in a red pickup drove into the yard and parked beside Amara. She was in her sixties, with silver braids and restaurant stains on her work shirt.
“Sheriff Bennett?”
“My name’s Teresa Cole. I saw the picture online.”
Amara braced herself for congratulations or outrage. Instead Teresa held out a folded packet.
“Deputy Ransom stopped me last year.”
Amara did not take the packet immediately. “If you want to make a complaint, I can connect you to the external review team.”
“I already complained.”
“What happened?”
“They said his camera malfunctioned.”
Amara looked at the packet.
Teresa continued. “He said I rolled a stop sign. Maybe I did. I had nine thousand dollars in my purse because I was buying a used commercial freezer. He kept me on the shoulder almost an hour asking if it was drug money. Another deputy came. They searched my truck after I said no. They didn’t take the cash, but they counted it on the hood like I was a criminal.”
“Who was the other deputy?”
“I don’t remember. Younger white guy.”
“Did you get his name?”
“It’s in there.”
Amara took the packet and looked only at the first page. The complaint disposition read INSUFFICIENT EVIDENCE. Supervisory review: SGT. L. VOSS.
Amara closed it.
“I can’t investigate this personally,” she said. “But I can make sure it reaches the people who can.”
Teresa studied her. “You gonna protect your people?”
Amara understood what she meant.
“Yes,” she said. “From false accusations, from retaliation, from bad leadership, and from each other when necessary.”
Teresa nodded slowly. “That’s a different answer.”
The state investigator arrived and took the packet, the tow-yard footage, and photographs. Before leaving, he pulled Amara aside.
“We downloaded Ransom’s bodycam.”
“And?”