I first met Brent Hopkins, a detective with the elite Los Angeles Police Department Sexual Assault Unit at West Bureau, in 2009 when I was a probationary police officer at Wilshire Division.

As a child, I would sit with my dad in front of the old television, its rotary knob clicking like a clock, winding back time. I’d sprawl across the floor, belly pressed to the carpet, chin cradled in my hands.

I miss the Beltway. I miss the way the trees lined the road, tall and watchful, as if they leaned forward to study the stream of cars speeding by.