Whitmore looked toward the patrol car, then the street. His breathing had changed, becoming rapid and shallow. Until the credentials appeared, he had expected this encounter to end with a report he could write and a woman he could describe as difficult. He now understood that the report might be compared with recordings he could not control. Worse, he understood that someone far above him in institutional rank had been watching his conduct from the receiving end.
"Your Honor, listen," he began. "I thought there was a suspicious person. We have calls in this area. I made a judgment call."
"You made several," Simone answered. "You entered my property without permission, refused to tell me what crime you suspected, threatened my neighbor and a teenager, accused me of assault after I tripped, and used my garden hose to punish me. Which of those decisions depended on my not being a judge?"
He had no answer.
"If you had known I worked as a secretary at the courthouse, would you have stopped?" she asked. "If I cleaned offices at night, would you have considered me worth listening to?"
"I didn't mean it that way."
"You were very clear about what you meant."
Simone looked at her phone. The screen was wet, but it worked after she wiped it on the comparatively dry inside of her sleeve. She had the number of Police Chief Amanda Winters from an earlier meeting about community safety and court security. She hesitated before dialing, aware of the unusual position in which she now stood: a federal judicial officer reporting a crime committed against her by a local officer.
She knew she must not act as investigator, prosecutor, or judge in her own case. She also knew she needed an immediate supervisory response and independent evidence preservation. She called.
"Chief Winters," came a woman's voice after two rings.
"Chief, this is Judge Simone Laurent. I'm at my residence at 2847 Maple Ridge Drive, and I need police supervisors and medical assistance. Officer Derek Whitmore just assaulted me in my front yard."
The chief was silent for a moment. "Judge Laurent, are you safe right now?"
"He's still here. His partner and several neighbors are present. The immediate assault has stopped."
"Do you need an ambulance?"
Simone pressed a hand to her aching chest. "I need to be examined. More importantly, I want the scene preserved and I want your department to prevent the recordings from being lost."
"I'm dispatching supervision and medical personnel. Internal Affairs will be notified, and I'll contact independent investigators. Can you tell me his badge number?"
"Four-seven-eight-two."
The silence this time felt different. "Derek Whitmore," the chief repeated. "Understood. I'm coming myself."
She asked to speak briefly with Mills. Simone held the phone out, and the younger officer took it with both hands. He answered questions quietly, gave the address again, and agreed that Whitmore would be separated from active duty while the incident was assessed. Simone did not need the conversation on speaker to see Whitmore's expression change as his partner acknowledged the complaint in front of witnesses.
"Chief wants you to remain here until the supervisor arrives," Mills told him. "You're not to have contact with Judge Laurent."