Mitchell held up the badge and studied it under his flashlight. “This could be fake.”
Maya’s patience cracked slightly. “Sir, it’s real.
You can call the hospital. My colleague is waiting for me.
A seventeen-year-old boy—”
“A lot of people can make fake badges these days. Real professional-looking.”
Her phone rang. The car’s Bluetooth picked it up automatically.
Dr. Carter’s voice filled the car through the speakers.
“Maya, where are you? He’s crashing.
Blood pressure is 60 over 30. I need you now.”
Maya lunged for her phone. Mitchell’s hand shot out.
“Don’t touch that.”
“That’s my colleague. That’s the hospital.
I need to—”
“Hands on the wheel.”
Maya’s voice rose. She could not help it.
“Officer, please. A child is dying.”
Mitchell leaned in close. “Ma’am, I need you to calm down.
Getting agitated isn’t helping your case.”
“My case? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You’re driving a vehicle registered to someone else, wearing medical scrubs that could be purchased online, carrying what might be a fake ID, and now you’re being uncooperative.”
Hayes shifted uncomfortably behind Mitchell. “Mitchell, she does have the badge and the stethoscope.”
Mitchell ignored him. “Step out of the vehicle.”
“Why? I’ve given you everything—”
“I said step out now, or I’ll remove you myself.”
Maya’s hands shook as she unbuckled her seat belt. She stepped out onto the shoulder.
Traffic passed. A few cars slowed down.
Someone’s phone was up, recording.
Mitchell guided her to the back of her car. “Put your hands on the trunk.”
“Officer, please just call the hospital. Ask for Dr.
Patricia Carter. She’ll confirm.”
“Hands on the trunk.”
Maya complied. Her scrubs rustled in the night wind.
The fabric was thin. She was cold, or maybe she was just terrified.
Hayes searched the car. He found medical journals in the back seat, subscriptions with her name, and a white coat draped over the passenger headrest.
Her name was embroidered on it: Dr. Maya Richardson, Chief of Trauma Surgery.
He brought it to Mitchell.
“She’s got all this stuff, man. Journals, the coat, it all has her name.”
Mitchell examined the coat and held it up. “Could all be faked.
Identity theft is sophisticated now.”
A car pulled over behind them. A Black man in his fifties got out.
“Officers, is there a problem? That’s Dr.
Richardson. I recognize her from the hospital.”
Mitchell turned. “Sir, return to your vehicle.
This is police business.”