Nathaniel and Aaron did not attend that interview. They were in the station parking lot, leaning against their rental car while the last of the evening traffic passed under the water tower. Rosie's across the street had gone dark, its chairs turned upside down on the tables. The whole day felt longer than it was. Aaron's wrists were sore where the cuffs had pressed, and Nathaniel had watched him unconsciously touch one red mark three times before finally saying what he had been thinking.
"You held yourself together in there," Nathaniel said.
"Barely."
"I know. That's why I want to talk about tomorrow before it becomes personal."
Aaron watched a patrol car cross Main Street without its lights on. "It's already personal."
"Of course it is. You were the one in handcuffs. But if you let the investigation become about getting even with Dale Kesler, you'll start choosing evidence according to how much it hurts him. You'll overlook things that complicate your story. You'll turn a good case into a contest between two men."
Aaron turned to face him. "You think I'm going to do that?"
"I think you deserve to hear the warning from your partner before a defense lawyer says it in a courtroom. Isaiah Monroe deserves an honest investigation, not a victory speech built around what happened to you today. So do Carter, Webb, Price, and everybody else whose paperwork brought us here."
The parking lot was quiet. Aaron could feel the truth of the warning and still resent how much it stung. He remembered the first time he had told Nathaniel about the stop at nineteen. The older man had listened without trying to make the memory smaller, then asked what documentation existed.
There had been none beyond a dispatch entry. Aaron had hated that answer until he understood what Nathaniel meant: not that the experience was unreal, but that the system had been built to forget it. He was determined not to make Isaiah's experience depend on anyone's willingness to believe a story without checking.
"You're right," he said finally. "I hate that you're right, but you are."
Nathaniel offered a tired smile. "That is a fair description of most of our partnership."
Aaron took out his phone. A contact from the referral file was saved under one name. Isaiah Monroe. He stared at the number for a moment, then showed Nathaniel the screen.
"We keep talking about him like a file," Aaron said. "I want to know what the drive home feels like. I want to hear him describe it before anyone at the station decides his complaint belongs in a drawer again."
"Then we ask whether he'll speak to us," Nathaniel replied. "We tell him exactly who we are, what we can do, and what we can't promise. We don't arrive with the answer written already."
Aaron pressed call. The line rang four times before a cautious voice answered. "Hello?"
"Mr. Monroe, my name is Aaron Brooks. I'm a federal investigator working with the Department of Justice on complaints concerning the Millbrook Police Department. Your earlier reports were referred to our team. Would you be willing to meet with us and tell us what happened?"