CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: THE ROOM WITH TWO DOORS
Young returned to Crestwood when the court scheduled a status conference on compliance with the preservation order.
The conference was narrower than the earlier hearing.
The judge wanted to know which records had been produced, which remained disputed, and whether interim safeguards were operating as directed.
Young sat with the government team while David Roth addressed the court.
A city attorney reported that several impounded vehicles had been released after expedited reviews.
The same attorney acknowledged that owners still disputed certain fees and the condition in which their property had been returned.
Judge Whitaker asked for precise figures and a timetable.
She declined to treat a general statement of progress as proof that all outstanding issues had been solved.
The towing contractor’s lawyer objected to several document requests on grounds of privilege and relevance.
The judge heard the arguments before setting a procedure to resolve them.
Young listened without speaking.
It was not her role to convert every disagreement into misconduct.
She had learned that restraint could feel uncomfortable when people were waiting for answers.
It remained necessary.
During a recess, a courthouse employee approached Young near a side corridor.
“Director Jenkins, there’s a resident asking whether she can give you something.”
“Is she represented by counsel?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please direct her to the public intake process or the attorneys handling the case.”
The employee nodded.
Young watched the corridor door close.
On the other side, a woman had apparently traveled a long distance because she believed the director was the one person who would listen.
Young understood the impulse.
She also knew that taking private evidence in a hallway could create problems for the witness and for the investigation.
She found Roth and asked whether public instructions about submitting complaints were clear enough.
“We can make them clearer,” he said.
“Do it before another person spends bus fare trying to find the right door.”
The resident turned out to be the mother of a delivery driver whose car had been released with damage to its rear bumper.
She had brought photographs and a handwritten timeline.
An intake specialist met her in a private room, explained what the office could receive, and offered contact details for the separate administrative claims process.
No one promised that her son’s case would become a federal charge.
The woman left with a receipt showing that her submission had been accepted.
For her, that was not the end of the matter.
It was the first time she had been given a way to follow it without begging someone at a counter.
CHAPTER THIRTY: ANOTHER KIND OF PRESSURE
After the status conference, Nia Palmer called Young through an official line.
She had concerns about the public attention surrounding the case.
“People think every bad experience they have with the city belongs in your investigation,” Nia said.
“Some are frightened when we tell them the issue needs a different office.”
“I don’t want them turned away without an explanation,” Young replied.
“Neither do I.”
“But I also don’t want them promised an outcome we cannot deliver.”
Nia paused.
“Marisol has been asked to speak at three rallies.”
“Does she want to?”
“She says she feels guilty refusing because so many people helped her.”
Young looked across her desk at a stack of pending correspondence.
“Tell her she has already done work that took courage.”
“She may need to hear that from someone outside her family.”
“She shouldn’t owe anyone the use of her story.”
