“In another state.” He folded his hands on his desk. “The Illinois Department of Corrections pulls records from Illinois databases. LEADS, the state repository, I-Search. If there’s no Illinois arrest, no Illinois conviction, nothing shows up.”
I stared at him. “So, you’re telling me that someone can just cross state lines and start a brand-new life? Like nothing ever happened?”
“If there were federal charges, it would be different. Those show up in the national database.”
“Domestic violence isn’t federal,” I realized.
“In many cases, no. It’s not.”
My fingernails dug into my palms so hard, I was probably drawing blood.
“Harper”—Callahan’s voice softened, which somehow made it worse—“I realize this is frustrating.”
“Frustrating?” A sharp laugh escaped me. “I just found out that my abusive ex-boyfriend passed the application, the interview, and the background check to work at this prison. Which, with all due respect, makes me question the competence of everyone involved in hiring.”
A flicker of defensiveness crossed his face. “There are gaps in the system. It’s not perfect.”
“No shit.”
His jaw tightened. “If what you’re saying is true …”
“If?” The word came out like a slap. “Silas Whitmore is my ex-boyfriend. He was abusive, to the point where I fled the state to start a new life. He followed me here. And evidently, he gothimself hired as a correctional officer.” I stepped closer to his desk. “What part of that sounds made up to you?”
Callahan shifted in his chair. “I’m just saying that without documentation?—”
“This morning, he hit me.” I pointed to the bruise on my cheekbone. “I filed a police report. That happened inthisstate. Which means it’sthisjurisdiction. Which means it’syourproblem.”
I don’t know what I was expecting. Shock maybe. Horror. Outrage at the very least.
But Callahan looked at me like I’d just reported that Silas had been five minutes late to his shift.
“Is there a warrant out for his arrest?”
I blinked. “What?”
He set his pen down with the patience of a man who had all the time in the world. “Is there currently a warrant out for his arrest?”
“Well, no. Not yet at least. I have to file for a restraining order. Then the judge has to review it, and …”
“I’m aware of how the process works.”
“Excuse me for saying this.” I planted my hands on the edge of his desk. “But I thought you would be a little more outraged.”
“I empathize with what you’re going through.”
“Do you? Because you seem pretty calm about the fact that you hired a violent abuser to guard inmates.”
“If what you’re saying is true, it will all work out through the proper legal channels.”
If. There was that word again.
“What do you think happened?” I gestured at my face. “You think I slammed my cheekbone into a doorframe right before a new CO started, just so I could preemptively accuse him of something? Does that make sense to you?”
Callahan didn’t acknowledge the question. “He wasn’t arrested, correct?”
“No. He fled like the coward he is before the officers arrived.” My voice was shaking now, but I didn’t care. “But they photographed my injury. They took my statement. They filed a report. It’s all documented.”
“But no emergency protective order was filed.”
