Quentin hung up. He didn't run. He didn't yell. He walked back into the conference room, picked up his jacket, and looked at the director. " Sir, I need to cash in that leave immediately. " "
Everything all right? " " No, sir. A local LEO just assaulted a federal agent's father and denied him life-sustaining medication. I'm going home. " The director, a man who had seen everything in his 30-year career, saw the look in Quentin's eyes.
It was the look of a predator that had just picked up a scent. " Do you want me to make a call? " " No. " Quentin said, his voice terrifyingly calm. " I want to do this by the book.
I want to see them lie first. I want them to put it on the record. " Quentin walked out of the Hoover Building and into his black government-issue Tahoe. He didn't turn on the sirens. He didn't speed.
He drove with a cold, calculated precision of an executioner. When he reached Oak Haven, night had fallen. He went straight to the precinct. He didn't flash his badge. He didn't wear his suit.
He wore a hoodie and jeans, looking like just another concerned son. He walked up to the desk. " Sergeant, I'm here for Wendell Washington. " The sergeant, a man named Nolan with a coffee stain on his shirt, didn't look up. " Processing is closed.
Come back tomorrow for arraignment. " " He's diabetic. " Quentin said. " He needs his insulin. " " If he's sick, the jail nurse will see him in the morning.
Now, beat it. " " He might not make it to morning. " " Not my problem. " Nolan grunted. " Maybe he should have thought about that before he assaulted an officer. "
Quentin stared at Nolan. He memorized the shape of his face, the name on his badge, the time on the clock. He was gathering intelligence. " Okay. " Quentin said softly. "
Tomorrow. " He walked out. He didn't go to a hotel. He went to his father's house. He booted up his laptop, a secure Bureau terminal.
He plugged in an encrypted drive. " Computer. " He muttered to himself. " Pull up everything on Officer Dax Holloway. Financials, complaints, body cam archives, emails, text messages, everything. " "
Text. " " Text. " As the progress bar loaded, Quentin sat in his father's favorite armchair waiting for the sun to rise. The storm was coming and Oak Haven had no umbrella. The morning of the arraignment in the Oak Haven Municipal Court was a theater of the absurd.
The air conditioner rattled fighting a losing battle against the humidity and the gallery was packed with the usual suspects, petty thieves, traffic violators, and family members praying for leniency. Wendell Washington was shuffled in with the first group of arraignments. He looked terrible. His skin was gray and clammy, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. His lip was swollen to the size of a plum turning a deep ugly purple.
He leaned heavily against the railing of the defendant's box, his legs trembling visibly. Judge Everett Langford sat on the bench. Langford was a man who had been ruling Oak Haven for 20 years with a gavel in one hand and a scotch in the other. He and Holloway's father used to hunt deer together. In this town that bond was thicker than the Constitution. "
Case number 492, " the bailiff droned, "State versus Wendell Washington. Charges: speeding, resisting arrest, assault on a police officer. " A murmur went through the crowd. Wendell Washington, the mailman, assaulting a cop. Prosecutor Claire Nolan, the sister of the desk sergeant who had ignored Quentin the night before, stood up.
She didn't even look at Wendell. She just read from the file. " Your honor, the defendant was stopped for a routine traffic violation. He became belligerent, refused to exit the vehicle, and when Officer Holloway attempted to assist him, the defendant struck the officer. We are requesting bail be set at $50,000 given the violent nature of the offense against law enforcement. "
Wendell tried to speak, his voice rasping. " Your honor, I didn't "Silence. " Judge Langford snapped, not looking up from his paperwork. " You'll get your turn, Mr. Washington. Though I have to say, hitting an officer at your age, you should be ashamed. "
Officer Dax Holloway sat in the front row, arms crossed, chewing his gum. He smirked at Wendell. It was a look of pure predation. He knew the old man couldn't afford a lawyer yet. He knew the public defender was overworked and would push for a plea deal.
Plead to the assault, do 6 months probation, lose your pension. That was the game. " I'm setting bail at $50,000, " Judge Langford announced raising his gavel, "and I'm ordering a psych evaluation to see if you're senile. " " Objection. " The word cut through the noise of the courtroom like a razor blade.
It wasn't shouted, it was spoken with a baritone resonance that vibrated in the chest of everyone present. Heads turned. The double doors at the back of the courtroom swung open. Quentin Washington walked in. He wasn't wearing the hoodie and jeans anymore.
He was wearing a charcoal tailored suit that cost more than Judge Langford's car. His shoes clicked against the linoleum floor with a rhythmic, terrifying precision. He carried a leather briefcase in one hand and a stack of files in the other. He didn't stop at the gallery railing. He unlatched the gate and walked directly into the well of the court. "
Who are you? " Judge Langford sputtered, face reddening. " You can't just waltz in here. Bailiff, remove this man. " The bailiff, a heavy-set man named Carl, stepped forward, hand on his taser.
Quentin didn't even look at him. He simply held up a gold badge. It wasn't the small shield of a local detective, it was the heavy, distinctive shield of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. " Step down, Carl, " Quentin said calmly. Carl froze.
The badge caught the light. Special Agent, Department of Justice. Quentin turned his eyes to the judge. " I am Quentin Washington. I am the defendant's son.
I am also his counsel for this arraignment. Pro hac vice. And I'm objecting to this bail on the grounds that the probable cause statement is a work of fiction. " Holloway stood up, his face flushing angry red. " He can't be here.
This is a local matter. " Quentin turned to Holloway. He looked the cop up and down, dissecting him. " Sit down, officer, unless you want to add perjury to your list of mistakes today. " " You threatening me? "
Holloway snarled stepping forward. " I'm advising you. " Quentin said, his voice dropping an octave. " You falsified a police report. You claim my father struck you.
Yet I have the metadata from your dash cam, which you conveniently turned off after the stop, but the buffer recording captured the 30 seconds prior. It shows you striking him. " The courtroom went silent. " That's a lie, " Holloway shouted. " The camera malfunctioned. " "
Did it? " Quentin opened his briefcase and pulled out a tablet. " Because I accessed the cloud backup of the precinct server this morning using my federal clearance, I have the video. I also have the logs showing you tried to delete it. " Quentin turned back to the judge. "
Your honor, my father is in a diabetic crisis. He has been denied medication for 18 hours in violation of the 8th Amendment. You will release him on his own recognizance immediately so I can take him to a hospital. If you do not, I will personally add your name to the federal civil rights lawsuit I'm filing this afternoon. And Judge, I don't lose. "
Judge Langford looked at Holloway, then at the federal agent who looked like he could tear the building down with his bare hands. The judge swallowed hard. The power dynamic had shifted instantly. The predator was now the prey. " Release him, " Langford squeaked. "
Now get him out of here. " The emergency room at Oak Haven General was quiet. Wendell was hooked up to an IV drip, color slowly returning to his cheeks. He was sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that finally soothed the rage burning in Quentin's gut. Quentin stood by the window watching the parking lot.
He made a phone call. " It's me, " Quentin said. " I need the team. Yes, the full extraction team. No, not for a bust yet, for forensic auditing.
Bring the cyber division guys. " He hung up as the door opened. It wasn't a doctor, it was Dax Holloway. And he wasn't alone. He had brought two other officers, his boys, Vaughn and a gargantuan man named Russo.