A few others followed. Not enthusiastically, not in the way of performance, just in the honest way of people who had witnessed something they needed to see. Savannah bent down and picked up her water bottle. Her hands were steady. Her chest was not.
Garrett came around from behind the desk, which was the first time she'd seen him fully cross the room since the situation with Dale had started. He stopped near Quinn and stood there with his arms at his sides. "I should have done something sooner," Garrett said. Quinn looked at him. "Yes," he said.
"You should have." It wasn't cruel the way he said it. It was just true. And Garrett received it the way people receive true things that cost them something with his face doing several things at once and none of them comfortable. Savannah thought the morning was over. Then she thought the tension had broken and the room would slowly go back to training.
And by afternoon, things would feel different, if not resolved. She was wrong because at 12:47 p. m., while she was in the changing area pulling her coat on, her phone rang. The screen said, "Denton general, admin." She answered immediately. "M Cole," a voice she didn't know. "This is the director's office at Denton General.
I'm calling to inform you that we've received a formal legal communication today regarding your employment status. A civil suit has been filed naming you as a defendant by officer Dale Ror alleging defamation and torchious interference with his professional duties. A pause. Hospital legal has been notified. HR is asking you to come in Monday morning before your shift.
She stood in the changing area with her coat halfway on and the ambient noise of the gym filtering through the door. A civil suit, not a complaint, not a union call. A lawsuit filed in civil court naming her by name targeting her employment running parallel to the departmental review designed to bury her in legal costs and professional uncertainty before the hearing could be decided. Miss Collie, are you there? Yes, she said.
I'll be there Monday. She hung up. She finished putting her coat on. She pushed through the door to the main floor where Quinn was still there talking quietly to Steph. And when he looked at her face, he excused himself from the conversation and came across the room.
He read her expression before she said a word. "What happened?" he said. She told him. She kept her voice level and her account specific. And she did not, despite the sharp and specific fear that was moving through her right now, allow it to make her voice unsteady.
When she finished, Quinn was quiet for a moment. He filed it today, he said same day he received the formal hearing notice. Yes, he has a lawyer who had this ready in advance. Quinn's voice was controlled, but something in it had shifted. Not anger, but the tonal quality of someone whose assessment of a situation has just changed significantly.
This isn't improvisation. He's been preparing a legal response since he got the complaint notice. I know, she said. Savannah, he stopped. This is going to get to the press.
The Tribune reporter already has your name. A civil filing is public record. She looked at him. I know that, too. Are you okay?
It was the second time in 2 weeks someone had asked her that question in a way that meant something, and she took a moment to answer it honestly. "No," she said. "Not right now." A breath. "But I'm not done." Quinn held her gaze for a moment with an expression she'd seen exactly once before on the face of a surgeon who'd just finished a procedure he wasn't sure would work and was watching the monitors for the answer. Sandival needs to know tonight.
He said, "I know. And Savannah, there's something I didn't tell you. Something I've been holding until the right time." He stopped. "The wrong time is now, which means the right time was earlier, and I'm sorry for that." She looked at him. What is it?
He glanced around the gym, assessing the room with the automatic habit of someone for whom that was always the first step. Then he looked back at her. The use of force reviews that were closed early, he said. Hensley didn't close them alone. There are communications connecting a third party, someone outside the department, a civilian, he paused.
Someone who has been a member of this gym for 4 years. The floor shifted under her in a way that had nothing to do with physical balance. She looked around the room at the people who were still there. Steph, Beex, Petra, Theo, three or four others she recognized from months of Thursday evenings and Saturday mornings. Who?
She said. Quinn's voice dropped to something just above quiet. Garrett Wills, he said. She looked at Garrett Wills standing behind his desk. The same desk.
The same man who' told her to come on Tuesdays and Thursdays and not jump into intermediate classes too fast. The man who'd hesitated before the choke demonstration and then said keep it light and looked the other way when light wasn't what happened. 4 years. The number sat in her chest like something swallowed wrong. How long have you known?
She asked Quinn. 3 days. I wanted to confirm before I told you. Sandival pulled his phone records yesterday morning. He kept his voice low and his body angled away from the desk.