I felt that was in good hands. I also had a feeling Hargrove’s world was changing on him – but it wasn’t my fault.

Okay, it wasn’t entirely my fault. The temptation to nudge him – probably my father’s heritage – was too strong to entirely resist. But he was a good man and a good cop. I hadn’t liked him at first, but he’d kind of grown on me.

Perhaps I’d also grown on him. It wouldn’t surprise me. I slipped back out of the police station only to come face to face with a group of protestors.

“How does it feel to live with a murderer?”

I took a deep breath. “It wasn’t him. It was a different cop. Mistaken identity.”
“So you say.”

“Hey. I didn’t say it wasn’t an asshole cop. Just that you have the wrong cop.” There weren’t that many of them. They could, I thought, hear me clearly. “That’s why we have a system for these things. To make sure we get the right guy.”

“She was twelve years old!” came another voice.

I flinched. “I know. I know. This isn’t right. None of it’s remotely right. But it wasn’t Mike that did it. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Of course you’re going to protect him.” The woman pushed her way to the front. “He’s your family. Just think about ours.”

“I am. Believe me, I am.”

I was, too. I didn’t like the idea that a cop had shot a little girl. I wanted to see that cop in jail for it. I hoped some sincerity carried in my voice.
The one who had mentioned the girl’s age. “You’re white. You don’t have a clue…well, except you apparently like to corrupt black girls.”
Red rose in my vision. I forced it down and then laughed. “Believe me, it was mutual corruption.”

Being seen as a fetishist, though? That was too much. It was all I could do to keep control of myself.

But the woman spoke again. “If it wasn’t him, prove it.”

“Give me time and I will. I promise.” I meant it, too. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it, but I was sure that between me and Hargrove and Father Will we could find the proof.