“I know.”
“I've ordered Rollins placed on administrative leave pending investigation. Internal affairs has been notified. County counsel too.”
“I want you to know—”
I raised a hand.
She stopped.
“Marian, don't tell me this isn't who your department is.”
Her expression tightened.
“I wasn't going to.”
“Yes, you were.”
A breath.
Then a reluctant nod.
“I was.”
“Every chief does.”
“What would you prefer I say?”
“The truth.”
She looked toward Carter.
Then back to me.
“The truth is I don't know yet what this says about my department.”
“That is a better answer.”
She sat.
“I reviewed the first portion of Rollins's body-camera footage.”
“And?”
“He had no factual basis for an arrest that I can defend.”
“That's the legal question.”
“And the other question?”
“Why did nobody stop him?”
Carter's jaw shifted.
Holt said, “Miller objected.”
“He objected verbally and then rode with me to the station.”
“That will be examined.”
“It should be.”
Holt leaned forward.
“Arthur, this will become public.”
“Probably today.”
“We can release a joint statement.”
She paused.
“You don't want to coordinate?”
“I don't want language that makes this look resolved before anyone has investigated it.”
“You're the FBI director.”
“Today I'm the complainant.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow I go back to work.”
She studied me.
“You really believe you can keep those roles separate?”
“I have to.”
That answer sounded clean.
It wasn't.
By noon, I would discover how difficult it actually was.
Part III — The Record
The leak happened at 10:43 a.m.
My deputy, Rachel Wynn, called while I was back home changing clothes.
“It's out.”
I stood in my bedroom with a white dress shirt halfway buttoned.
“Unknown. Local reporter has enough to know there was an arrest involving you.”
“Name Rollins?”
“Not yet.”
“Do not confirm.”
“I assumed.”
“What else?”
“White House counsel called.”
I closed my eyes.
“Of course they did.”
“Attorney General's office too.”
“Tell both I will call when I have facts.”
“This isn't staying local.”
“No, I mean there's already chatter that the arrest was racially motivated.”
I looked toward the dresser.
A photograph of Evelyn sat beside my watch.
She was laughing in the picture, head turned away from the camera, standing on a beach in Maine six summers before she died.
“What does the footage show?”
“We don't have it.”
“The county does.”
“They're not releasing it yet.”
“Good?”
Rachel was silent.
Then she said, “You don't want them releasing the tape?”
“I don't want an investigation replaced by a clip.”
“Arthur, a clip might protect you from whatever story his lawyer puts out.”
“This isn't about protecting me.”
There was a pause.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it isn't.”
“Then what is it about?”
I finished buttoning the shirt.
“Finding out whether Rollins was an exception or a symptom.”
Rachel exhaled.
“I'll meet you at headquarters.”
“No?”
“Pull his name.”
Her tone changed.
“As in?”
“Any FBI contact. Task forces, federal complaints, civil rights referrals, background checks, anything lawfully accessible without using my position to interfere with the local investigation.”
“You think there's more.”
“I think Carter's face changed when I asked about prior complaints.”