The earliest flight he could secure reached Reynolds Regional Airport shortly after eleven. It was thirty miles from the city, far enough that the taxi ride seemed endless despite the nearly empty highway. Marcus spent most of it speaking with Diana, who had confirmed that Angela was being held and that the station had refused a voluntary release. The department's initial report alleged she had interfered with an active fugitive operation, but contained no name or case number for the fugitive.
At 12:07 a.m. Marcus walked into the central district station. The desk sergeant looked up with the guarded expression of somebody who had already received calls from lawyers and supervisors and expected a difficult night. Marcus identified himself as Angela Brooks's husband and requested information about her condition, access to counsel, and the charges that had actually been entered. He did not shout, and he did not claim that his rank gave him authority over the station.
"Visiting hours are over," the sergeant said.
"I'm not asking for a social visit," Marcus replied. "I'm asking to confirm whether she has received medical care and whether her lawyer can speak with her. My understanding is that she has complained of an injured shoulder and a warrantless home entry."
The sergeant looked toward the hallway, then made a call. After several minutes, Griggs appeared and escorted Marcus to a partition near the holding area. Angela sat upright on a bench beyond it, her hair loose and her face tired. Marcus had prepared himself to stay calm, but the sight of her cheek and wrists nearly broke that determination.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Angela rose and came to the barrier. "I will be. Mrs. Carter's in danger, Marcus. This wasn't about a fugitive. Holt kept looking at her house."
"We're going to deal with that," he said. "First we get you out. Diana's coming, and we're preserving everything."
Angela caught his eyes. "Don't make this about proving who you are. They treated everyone on that block as though they were disposable. I want that in the record."
"I hear you," Marcus answered. He put his hand against the metal partition and held it there a moment. He wanted to tell her she would never be frightened again, but that would have been a promise neither of them could keep. Instead he said he loved her and would be there when the doors opened.
Captain Holt received Marcus in an office arranged around plaques, framed commendations, and a desk polished to a shine. A small trophy from Crystal Lake Country Club stood beside the bookcase. Marcus noticed it because Mrs. Carter had mentioned that the developer's representative seemed to know Holt socially, but he did not assume a golf trophy proved bribery. It was a lead, not evidence.
"Your wife obstructed an active investigation," Holt said. "And your being in the Navy doesn't change that."
"You're right about my job," Marcus answered. "It doesn't change her rights. I want the name of the fugitive, the incident report number supporting the deployment, and the legal reason officers entered the house without a warrant."
"I don't have to share operational details with a civilian."