Vega looked back at her. "Of course you did."
Officer Cole appeared at the edge of the processing area. He had been watching from his workstation, and for the first time he seemed uncertain. Not apologetic. Uncertain. His eyes moved from Vega to the investigator to Maya.
"This is ridiculous," he said. "She didn't identify herself properly."
Maya turned toward him. "I told you I was an attorney. You laughed. I gave you my full name. You had my registration. Officer Ramos confirmed the plate return."
"You were obstructive."
Vega's voice was quiet. "What act constituted obstruction?"
Cole looked at her. "Who are you?"
"Deputy Attorney General Elena Vega. What act?"
Cole's face reddened. "She kept interfering with the investigation."
"By doing what?"
"Questioning me."
Vega waited.
Cole shifted. "Refusing to cooperate."
Maya said, "I complied with every physical instruction."
"She argued about the cuffs."
Park spoke from behind the desk. "The cuffs were too tight. I removed them."
Cole looked at her as if betrayed.
Lieutenant Brennan raised both hands. "We're not going to litigate this in the booking area. Officer Cole, go to the report room and stay there until I speak with you."
Cole stared at Maya. "So because she's some state lawyer, suddenly everybody acts like I committed a crime?"
Maya answered before anyone else could. "No. My job has nothing to do with whether your conduct was lawful. That's exactly the point."
He scoffed.
"If I were a teacher, a nurse, a cashier, a student, or unemployed, you would still have had the same obligation to verify the facts before escalating the stop," Maya continued. "What changes because of my job is that I know precisely what evidence to preserve, which questions to ask, and which offices must be notified. The law was not supposed to become more protective after you learned my title."
No one spoke.
Cole looked away first.
Vega asked Brennan whether Maya was still under arrest. The lieutenant said no. Vega asked whether any charging document had been completed. Brennan said it had not. Vega asked whether the department intended to pursue obstruction. Brennan said that decision would require review.
"Then we are leaving," Vega said.
Maya did not move. "Not until I have my property."
Ramos arrived about ten minutes later with Maya's purse and briefcase. He carried them himself. He looked embarrassed when he handed them over.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Maya took the purse. "For what?"
He glanced toward the report room. "I should've said more out there."
Maya studied him. He was young, perhaps thirty, and the regret on his face seemed genuine.
"You did say the plate matched," she replied.
"I should've done more than say it."
She nodded once. "Remember that feeling. It'll matter next time."
Outside the station, the evening had changed color. The hard gold of sunset had faded into blue-gray. Vega's state vehicle waited at the curb. The bureau investigator, Thomas Keene, stood several paces away making calls.
Maya sat in the passenger seat and finally allowed her hands to shake.
Vega did not speak for a while. She knew Maya well enough to understand that silence could be a form of privacy.
After several minutes, Vega said, "Do you want to go to urgent care?"
"Yes. I want the wrist injuries documented."
"Good."
"And I want Keene to send a preservation notice tonight. Formal. Not a courtesy email."
"Already drafting it."
Maya leaned her head back. "Of course he is."
Vega glanced at her. "You don't have to handle this case."
"I know."
"In fact, you probably shouldn't."
"I know that too."
"Then stop thinking like counsel for ten minutes and let yourself be the person this happened to."
That sentence broke something open.
Maya looked through the windshield at the station entrance. People moved in and out. An officer held the door for an elderly couple. A woman hugged a teenager near the steps. The building looked ordinary, institutional, almost dull. Yet an hour earlier Maya had been sitting inside without her phone, without her ID, and without any guarantee that the people holding her would care about facts until someone important recognized her name.
"I keep thinking about what would've happened if I didn't work for the state," she said.
Vega's hands tightened on the steering wheel.