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Before I could respond, the door opened and a middle-aged woman in medical scrubs entered, followed by Peterson.
“This is Janet from medical,” Peterson announced, nervously shifting his weight. “And, um, Captain Reynolds just arrived. She’d like to speak with you, Judge Sullivan.”
The precinct captain coming in at nearly 4:00 a.m. was unusual and suggested that word of my presence had traveled quickly. “Tyler needs medical attention first,”
I stated firmly.
“Then I want copies of all reports filed regarding this incident, including any statements from Officer Miller, and I want to know exactly what charges are being considered.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Peterson replied, his earlier authoritative demeanor completely evaporated. “The captain asked to meet you in her office once the medical evaluation is complete.”
As the medical technician examined Tyler’s face, noting the distinct finger marks that suggested a slap rather than defensive action on Robert’s part, I maintained a calm exterior while my mind worked through the legal strategy. My priority was getting Tyler released into my custody, but I had no intention of letting Robert’s false accusations go unchallenged.
20 minutes later, with Tyler’s injury documented and photographed, I followed Peterson to Captain Reynolds’ office. I remembered to walk slowly, maintaining my dignified pace rather than hurrying, as my concern for Tyler urged me to do. Perception mattered in these situations, and I needed to project the same unflapable authority that had served me well on the bench.
Captain Diane Reynolds stood as we entered, extending her hand. “Judge Sullivan, I apologize for meeting under these circumstances.”
Her grip was firm, her gaze direct. I recognized in her the no-nonsense demeanor of someone who had earned her position through competence rather than connections.
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