He's a police officer. There's an internal affairs investigation in progress and he became aware of it this week. The complaint to HR is retaliatory. Fitch looked at her over her reading glasses. You're part of an IIA investigation.
As a witness, I was present during a training incident in which this officer applied a chokeold to a training partner and refused to release it despite repeated tap signals. I provided a statement. And you believe he contacted HR in response. The timing is specific, Savannah said. Within 72 hours of being informed the investigation was proceeding.
Fitch was quiet for a moment, tapping the arm of her chair. She was the kind of person who thought before she spoke, which Savannah generally appreciated and was particularly grateful for. Now, I'll need documentation from the IIA process. Something that establishes you're an official witness, not a subject. I can get that.
If you can, the notation gets flagged as pending review and doesn't progress. If you can't provide it in 48 hours, I have to let the HR process move forward. I understand, Savannah said. 48 hours. She left Fitch's office and went immediately to a supply closet she used sometimes when she needed 60 seconds alone and stood in the dark with bleach and gauze and the particular smell of institutional cleaning products and allowed herself to feel the full weight of what was happening without performing calmness about it.
Dale Ror was organized. He was strategic. He'd looked at her situation and found the point of maximum vulnerability. Not her physical safety, which he couldn't threaten directly without consequences, but her professional record. The thing she'd built to replace what she'd walked away from, the thing she needed in order to have a future that looked like the one she'd chosen.
She breathed. She counted to 10. She came out of the supply closet and texted Sandival's number directly. I need documentation of my witness status, something formal. There's been a retaliatory action at my workplace.
She paused, then added, "I need it in 48 hours." The reply took 12 minutes. I'll have something to you by end of day. This is useful information, Miss Cole. It demonstrates a pattern. "Thank you." She pocketed her phone and went to work.
The shift was 14 hours and involved two cardiac events, a complicated pediatric fever case, and a domestic violence victim who needed three things that took four departments and six conversations to coordinate. By the time she handed off at 9:00 p. m., she was running on the particular empty energy that came after a shift that had demanded everything and been given it. She was pulling her coat on in the locker room when her phone rang. Sandival. The documentation is emailed, he said.
But I'm calling because something else has come up that I thought you should know. A pause. We pulled Works gym registration records and cross-checked them with the complaint history from the two women who've agreed to speak to us. We found a third name, a woman named Cassandra Vale. She trained at Irongate 14 months ago for about 6 weeks and then stopped coming.
No complaint, no notice. She just stopped. Another pause. We located her. She's agreed to talk to us, but she won't come in.
She said she'll only give her statement in the presence of someone she considers a neutral party from the gym. Savannah already knew where this was going. She asked for Quinn, she said. She asked for a man she described as the quiet one who never bothered anyone. Sandival's voice had an edge that wasn't quite irony and wasn't quite something else.
She didn't know his name, but the description was specific enough that we identified him. I can let him know, Savannah said. I'd appreciate that. Miss Cole, I want you to be aware that the pattern we're building here is becoming significant. Three witnesses with direct incidents. two use of force reviews with irregular closure timelines now a retaliatory contact to your employer.
He stopped. This is going somewhere. I want you to know that. She stood in the locker room with her coat halfon. I know, she said.
I'll talk to Quinn. She called Quinn on the drive home, hands-free, the highway through Denton dark and mostly empty at this hour. She told him about Cassandra Vale. She told him about Sandival's summary of the pattern. She told him about the HR notation and the 48 hour window and the documentation that was already sent.
Quinn listened to all of it without interrupting. When she finished, he said, "He's accelerating." I know that means he's either panicking or he's decided to go on a fence. A beat. Either way, it means the investigation is getting close to something he doesn't want exposed. The use of force closures, she said, probably or something behind them.
He was quiet for a second. I'll meet with Cassandra Vale. When does Sandival need me? He didn't say. I'll send you his number.
Okay. She was almost home. The street lights on her block were orange and sparse. The kind of neighborhood that was safe but not expensive. She turned into her driveway and sat there with the engine running.