Angela turned her head slightly toward him. "Then tell people what danger they're facing. If there's an armed person in the area, the neighbors deserve an accurate description."
"You're very interested in controlling this operation."
"I'm interested in the truth."
He approached until they were almost face-to-face. "The truth is what gets established in the report, Mrs. Brooks. Don't forget that."
It was a small sentence, delivered quietly enough that only she and Griggs could hear every word. Yet it frightened Angela more than the shouting had. He did not say that reports recorded the truth. He said reports established it, as though reality belonged to the person who controlled the paperwork. She filed the distinction away alongside the names, the vehicle numbers, and the positions of the neighbors with cameras.
In the open telephone call, Marcus asked, "Angie, can you still hear me?"
"Yes. They're inside. Holt just said the report determines the truth."
"I heard him," Marcus said. "Diana Washington is being contacted. I've reached a military legal adviser as well. They are reviewing whether any government property kept at the residence was affected, but do not rely on that to stop these officers. Your right to be safe doesn't depend on my uniform."
Angela felt a brief surge of gratitude. There was no magical legal barrier around their house because Marcus was in the Navy. They owned an ordinary civilian residence, although his duties required certain security precautions and some government equipment was kept in a locked, inventoried container. Any claim of special protection needed careful legal analysis, not a bluff. Holt was wrong to assume a warrantless search was acceptable, but Angela would not strengthen his case by exaggerating her own authority.
"Understood," she answered. "Please make sure someone checks on Mrs. Carter."
The name produced a nearly invisible change in Holt's expression. It was so slight that someone who had not spent years studying frightened and hostile people would have missed it. His gaze moved across the street to the small white house, then returned to Angela. Griggs seemed to notice the same thing and tightened his grip without being asked.
A crash came from the kitchen. Angela pictured the blue serving bowl inherited from her grandmother and told herself not to guess what had broken. Every imagined object could make her angrier, and anger was exactly what the men surrounding her wanted to provoke. She fixed her attention instead on the growing circle of witnesses.
Mrs. Carter stepped down from her porch and called across the street. "Angela hasn't done anything. I was waiting for her to come over."
Holt raised his voice. "Ma'am, return to your home. This is a police matter."
"She's my neighbor. That makes it my matter too."