The plastic card clicked against the metal buckle of Koda’s vest.
“I would,” I said. My voice was barely a rasp, but it carried across the silent briefing room. “Because Koda didn’t just find the suspect that night, Richard. He found your dropped radio. And he found the bodycam you thought you smashed.”
Vance’s jaw tightened. The color drained from his cheeks, leaving him looking sickly under the harsh fluorescent lights. He took a half-step back, his hand instinctively dropping to his duty belt. The other officers in the room shifted in their chairs, the leather creaking in the quiet space.
“That’s a lie,” Vance snapped, his voice cracking. He forced a tight, patronizing smile, looking around at the crowd. “The bodycam was destroyed in the shootout. The review board already cleared the footage. Miller is trying to fabricate evidence to save his own skin. He’s a disgruntled employee who can’t handle the heat of the job.”
He pointed a trembling finger at me. “He’s tampering with department property! Someone get this dog off the floor and arrest him for obstruction!”
Two uniformed officers near the door stepped forward. They looked at Vance, then at me. They hesitated. They knew Koda. They knew me. They knew Vance had been bullying the junior officers for months.
“Stand down,” a new voice boomed.
The heavy oak doors at the back of the room swung open. Police Commissioner O’Malley walked in. He wasn’t wearing his usual easy smile. He was flanked by two Internal Affairs investigators carrying a laptop, a portable projector, and a thick manila folder.
“The review board didn’t clear the footage, Lieutenant,” O’Malley said, his voice cold and flat. “Because the footage was never submitted. Until today.”
Vance froze. He looked at the Commissioner, then at the SD card in my hand. The arrogance was completely gone. He looked like a trapped animal, his eyes darting toward the emergency exit.
“Commissioner, this is a misunderstanding,” Vance stammered, his hands shaking. He tried to step forward, but the IA investigators moved to block his path. “Miller is lying. He was the one who froze. I was trying to flank the suspect!”
“Plug it in,” O’Malley ordered the lead investigator.
The investigator didn’t hesitate. He took the micro-SD card from my hand, slotted it into the laptop, and connected it to the projector. The large screen behind Vance flickered to life. The timestamp read 02:14 AM. The Oak Street raid.
The footage was crystal clear. It showed me pinned down behind a rusted sedan, trading fire with an armed suspect. The audio was loud, filled with the deafening cracks of gunfire and my voice shouting for backup. And it showed Lieutenant Vance. It showed him dropping his radio, turning his back on the shootout, and sprinting down the alleyway to his personal car.
The room erupted. The officers who had been clapping for Vance ten minutes ago were now shouting, pointing at the screen. The murmur turned into a roar of anger.
Vance lunged for the laptop. “Turn it off! It’s deepfaked! It’s edited! You can’t use this!”
The IA investigators moved fast. One of them grabbed Vance’s right arm, twisting it behind his back. The metallic click of the handcuffs was sharp and final. It echoed off the cinderblock walls, silencing the room completely.
“Richard Vance, you’re under arrest for dereliction of duty, filing a false report, and endangering an officer,” the investigator said.
They marched him out of the briefing room. He didn’t look at the other officers. He didn’t look at the screen. He just stared at the floor, his shoulders slumped, entirely defeated. The heavy oak doors swung shut behind them.
Commissioner O’Malley walked over to me. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. He opened it. Inside was the Medal of Valor, gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
“You didn’t freeze, David,” O’Malley said softly. He reached down and scratched Koda behind the ears. The dog leaned into the touch, his tail thumping a steady rhythm against the carpet. “And neither did he.”
I unclipped the medal and fastened it onto the heavy nylon of Koda’s tactical vest. The brass caught the light, resting right above his heart.
The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind the investigators, leaving only the sound of Koda’s collar tags jingling against his medal.