The next morning, Marcus delivered copies of their evidence to Internal Affairs. Lieutenant Sarah Jenkins met him in a small office without the decorative trophies Holt favored. Detective Mike Torres, her investigative partner, sat beside a desk stacked with unresolved complaints. They listened to the full account before opening the documents.
"We've heard concerns about Captain Holt," Jenkins admitted. "But many complaints lacked witnesses willing to be named, and some evidence was difficult to recover. What you've brought us could help establish a pattern."
Marcus set down the property sales chronology, photographs of Angela's injuries, videos willingly provided by neighbors, and correspondence from Mrs. Carter. He also gave Jenkins Diana's preservation request and a list of officers who had been present. "There may be archived camera recordings," he said. "Detective Delgado told me those should exist."
Jenkins and Torres exchanged a look. Jenkins did not confirm what Delgado had said, but she wrote down the reference. "We'll seek the material through official channels," she replied. "If employees have been interfering with records, that becomes part of what we investigate."
"How long will this take?" Marcus asked.
"Longer than you want. We need independent verification, interviews, and protection against claims that the case is retaliatory. I can tell you we are opening a formal review. I cannot promise how it ends."
He appreciated the honesty, even though it offered less immediate comfort than he hoped. After leaving, he spoke with Diana about possible federal civil rights claims and the importance of not assuming local investigators could protect every witness. They agreed to refer the allegations to the appropriate federal offices while allowing Internal Affairs to proceed on its own. The evidence should exist in more than one lawful place, with clear records of where each item originated.
On Brookside, Angela spent the afternoon helping Mrs. Carter sort the last of the developer's letters. Her shoulder was still sore, and she wore a small bandage on her cheek. People who had seen her handcuffed now approached her with unfamiliar tenderness, as though the arrest had made them aware of a vulnerability she had always possessed but rarely displayed. She accepted their concern without letting it turn into pity.
"I'm not the only one they hurt," she told Mrs. Rodriguez when the woman offered to run errands for a month. "Help me get everyone together. We need names, dates, and copies of every notice. Nobody should feel pressured to remember everything alone."
They arranged a small gathering that evening. No cameras, no public speeches, just neighbors sitting at Angela's table sharing what had happened. Mr. Washington described being stopped three times in a week after refusing an offer. Mrs. Lopez showed photographs of her trash scattered across her lawn following a claimed investigation. Mrs. Johnson brought twelve citations issued within one month, most involving conditions she said had existed for years without complaint.
A retired teacher named Tom Rodriguez asked whether they could collect the stories in a confidential archive for the lawyers. Angela agreed, provided everyone understood that they could refuse to share details and that nothing would be posted publicly without consent. She had seen how easily people seeking publicity could turn private pain into material they no longer controlled. The neighborhood needed evidence, not a new way to feel exposed.