I want a copy of that footage," Mariah said immediately. Morgan cleared his throat. Unfortunately, there seems to have been a technical issue. The footage was corrupted during transfer. It is working to recover it.
Mariah didn't believe him for a second. How convenient. After the detectives left, Mariah locked her door and leaned against it, exhaustion washing over her. She'd spent decades in courtrooms, could recognize perjury and obstruction when she heard it. They were building a wall of lies, brick by bureaucratic brick.
She made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water when she heard it. The soft purr of a car engine idling outside her house. Moving carefully to the window, she cracked the blinds open, a habit from when she could see. "Is someone there?" she called to her empty house. Her neighbor Tom's voice came through the window from his porch across the street.
Police car unmarked just sitting there watching your house. Mariah felt a chill run down her spine. They just flashed their lights. Tom called a moment later. Now they're driving off.
The message couldn't have been clearer. We are watching you. We know where you live. Mariah moved through her darkened house, double-checking every lock. The day's events played in an endless loop in her mind.
Justice's body falling, Keller's sneering voice, the detectives gaslighting, the car watching her home. They thought her blindness made her vulnerable. They thought they could intimidate her into silence. She made her way back to her kitchen table and sat down. Her fingers found Justice's collar again, the metal tags cool against her skin.
"You killed my dog," she whispered into the darkness. But you won't kill my spirit. She reached for the digital recorder she used for legal notes, her fingers finding the familiar buttons with practiced ease. She pressed record. Case notes, August 12th.
Subject: Civil rights violation and unlawful killing of service animal justice. Badge number SD42781. Her voice grew stronger with each word. Perpetrators: Officers Daniel Briggs and Mark Keller. East Precinct.
Witnesses: minimum 12 neighbors present at scene. Evidence: multiple civilian videos contradicting official report. She continued methodically laying out the facts as she would for a case, identifying potential legal strategies, noting witnesses to contact. This was familiar territory. The careful building of a case, brick by factual brick.
First step, secure all video evidence before it disappears. Second, formal complaint with Department of Justice Civil Rights Division, bypassing local channels already showing signs of obstruction. Her fingers moved over Justice's collar as she spoke, drawing strength from the connection to him. They think because I can't see. I can't fight, she said into the recorder.
They're about to learn how wrong they are. The morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, but Mariah Ellison found no warmth in it. The house felt emptier than ever without Justice's nails clicking on the hardwood floors or his soft breathing beside her bed. She reached for her phone and pressed a familiar contact. Helen, it's Mariah.
I need your help. Helen Monroe's voice, steady as always, came through the line. I heard what happened. It's all over the legal circles. Tell me what you need.
I need allies, people I can trust. Can you come over? And could you call David Cho? If anyone knows how to fight this kind of battle, it's him. I'll be there in an hour and I'll call David right now.
Mariah hung up and sat at her kitchen table, running her fingers over the smooth wood surface. For the first time in years, she felt a drift. Without justice to guide her, even navigating her own home seemed more challenging. But it wasn't just physical guidance she missed. It was his presence, his warmth, his unwavering loyalty.
The doorbell rang precisely one hour later. "It's Helen," came the voice from outside. David is with me. Mariah opened the door and Helen immediately embraced her. Despite being 68, Helen Monroe carried herself with the same authority she'd had on the federal bench for decades.
Judge Ellison, David Cho said, his voice tight with controlled anger. I'm so sorry about justice. Thank you for coming, David. Mariah gestured them inside. Please call me Mariah.
We're not in court today. They settled in her living room, Helen guiding Mariah to her favorite armchair. "I've already started preliminary research," David said, pulling out papers from his briefcase. "Civil rights violations, violation of the Americans with Disabilities Act, unlawful destruction of property, though I hate calling justice property." "He was family," Mariah said quietly. "Yes, he was," Helen agreed. and what they did was criminal.
"I need to know what I'm up against," Mariah said. "The police union has already issued their statement painting justice as aggressive. The internal affairs detectives tried to gaslight me yesterday, suggesting I couldn't understand what happened because I'm blind." David's voice hardened. "Classic playbook. Discredit the victim.
Protect the officers. I requested the body cam footage," Mariah continued. They claim it was lost in transfer. Lost? Helen scoffed.
Convenient? Too convenient, David agreed. I'll file motions today demanding all video evidence be preserved. We'll also request all radio communications. The 911 call transcript.
I made some calls this morning, Mariah interrupted. A clerk I trust at the precinct sent me the incident report. It's full of lies. She handed over her tablet. Helen read it aloud for all of them.
Officers responded to 911 call regarding aggressive dog. Owner unable to maintain control. Dog barked and lunged at officers. Officer Briggs discharged weapon in defense of public safety. Helen's voice trailed off in disgust.
It's fabricated from start to finish, Mariah said. And notice who they cite as their primary witness. Harold Whitaker. Your neighbor? David asked.