“Three hundred arrests,” Nia said. “When I started, I thought this was about one officer who hated that I wouldn't be frightened.”
“It was about that too,” Darlene answered. “Cruelty and corruption aren't competing explanations. Some people like the power. Others like the money. Sometimes they help each other.”
Nia returned the photograph to the mantel. Her parents smiled out from a day so long ago that her father still had dark hair. She wondered what he would have said if she told him that a carefully maintained system of records had finally exposed wrongdoing. He would probably have asked whether the records were accurate, then reminded her not to assume repairing one bus meant the whole fleet was safe.
“We need to find a way to review those other cases,” she said.
“We will,” Darlene replied. “But don't mistake the promise for something that will happen overnight.”
Nia nodded. She was beginning to understand that the exposure of a corrupt system could take a single moment, while the repair of everything it had damaged could consume years. The second stop had brought the truth into view. Justice, if it came at all, would require a far longer commitment from everyone who had watched it happen.
The first public court proceeding against Halverson took place on a bright Monday morning. Nia arrived early with Alyssa, Harold, and Darlene, though she did not join the people crowding the main courthouse entrance. They came through a side corridor cleared by court security, not because she wanted special treatment but because threats against her remained under investigation. She wore a dark blue suit and the old watch beneath her sleeve. She did not wear her judicial robe. This was not her courtroom, and the man accused of harming her was entitled to a fair proceeding before an impartial judge.
The gallery filled slowly. Reporters occupied one side, while relatives of defendants whose cases were being reviewed sat on the other. Aaron Fields was near the back, his wife beside him and his hands clasped between his knees. Nia recognized him from photographs but had never met him in person. Across the aisle sat a grandmother whose grandson had accepted a plea after a stop by one of Halverson's colleagues. She held a small folder on her lap as though it contained something fragile.
When Halverson entered under escort, the room grew quiet. He wore a light shirt and dark trousers, his face pale and drawn. The man who had commanded a crowded street to watch him now seemed resentful of every person watching. He glanced toward Nia, then quickly away. She felt an involuntary tightening in her shoulder and resisted the urge to leave. She reminded herself that she was safe in the gallery and that the proceeding would belong to the court, not to the audience.