Marcus stared at the image until the boarding announcement sounded. Then he closed his phone and stood, carrying with him the conviction that every person who had relied on Brookside's residents remaining quiet had badly underestimated the strength of their attachments to one another.
He landed shortly before midnight and walked through the small airport with his travel bag over one shoulder. Outside, the humidity wrapped around him like damp fabric. The rental car's navigation display showed thirty miles to the central district station. He drove without speeding, although every red light felt like an insult to his urgency.
At the station, the desk sergeant initially told him visiting hours were over. Marcus explained that he was asking about the status of his wife, who was in custody, not requesting a casual visit. He gave Diana's name and phone number, then asked whether Angela had received medical care after reporting injuries. The sergeant's expression changed when Marcus described the neighborhood videos, although he did not answer directly.
Griggs appeared from a side corridor and recognized him before any introduction was made. "So you're the husband," he said. His earlier swagger was still present, but the number of calls arriving at the desk seemed to make him less certain of his position.
"I'm Marcus Brooks. I'd like to know why Angela was arrested and whether she's been examined by a medical professional."
"Captain Holt will speak to you."
"I'll speak with him. I also want to see my wife if it's permitted."
The short visit happened behind the bars of the holding area. Angela was sitting upright when Marcus appeared, but the effort required to rise betrayed how much she hurt. Her wrist was marked, her cheek swollen, and one side of her shirt stained from the pavement. Marcus forced himself not to look only at the injuries, because she needed a partner, not a man consumed by a desire to fight someone.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I need someone to check my shoulder and ribs," she admitted. "But I'm here."
He reached carefully through the bars to touch her fingers. "Diana's coming. You've got people protecting the videos. Mrs. Carter's safe tonight."
"It's her house, Marcus. That's what this is about. The offers, the fake inspections, the stops. It all connects."
"We'll investigate it. You don't need to prove anything while you're in here. Just take care of yourself and don't answer their questions without Diana."
Griggs told them the visit was over. Marcus held Angela's gaze one moment longer, long enough to communicate the part he could not say in front of the officer: he believed her completely, and he was not leaving the matter to the people who had hurt her.
Captain Holt's office looked less like a police workspace than a private club. There were polished plaques on the wall, a photograph of Holt shaking hands with a city councilman, and a glass-fronted cabinet filled with golf trophies. The largest trophy carried the name Crystal Lake Country Club, a place Marcus recognized from charitable fundraisers attended by local developers. He noticed the detail without staring, then faced the captain across the desk.