A few people murmured their agreement. Mrs. Carter did not move, although her shoulders were hunched and her hands visibly shook. Angela suddenly remembered the previous afternoon, when the older woman had told her that a code inspector had returned with a fresh list of violations. The complaints concerned loose paint on a rear fence, branches growing too close to a line, and a window screen supposedly visible from the road. Mrs. Carter had laughed weakly and asked whether the city had run out of actual problems.
The officers inside Angela's house were now banging through the upstairs rooms. Holt received a radio update that no suspect had been found in the living areas. He ordered a basement search, then demanded that the garage storage cabinets be emptied. Angela listened to the language in his instructions. He was not asking anyone to look for one frightened fugitive. He sounded like a man determined to leave no part of the house undisturbed.
"Captain," she said, "who made the report?"
"Confidential source."
"When?"
"You don't get to question our intelligence."
"Did someone see a person enter this house tonight?"
He said nothing. It was not an answer, but it was informative. Angela had heard people dodge questions under pressure before, and Holt displayed all the ordinary signs: aggressive volume, abrupt changes of subject, and the effort to turn a request for facts into an offense against his authority.
An officer emerged from the front door with a small black lockbox. Angela recognized it as the fire-resistant case holding insurance documents and her father's old letters. The officer shook it near his ear before setting it on the porch steps. "Locked container," he reported. "Could be something."
"It contains paperwork," Angela said. "The key is in the kitchen drawer. You are welcome to preserve it until a judge reviews your authority, but I don't consent to opening it."
Holt laughed without humor. "You seem remarkably comfortable telling police what they can do."
"I spent years doing a job where procedures mattered because people's lives depended on them. I haven't forgotten why."
Griggs abruptly shoved her toward the patrol car. Angela stumbled, caught her balance, and instinctively raised her free hand to avoid falling. The young officer nearest her flinched, his weapon tracking the movement before he understood she was simply trying to stay on her feet. For a sickening instant Angela imagined that ordinary reflex would be her final act.
"Hands still!" someone shouted.
"She pushed me," Griggs declared.
"I did not," Angela said immediately. "I was shoved and nearly fell. The witnesses saw it."
"We saw it!" Mrs. Martinez shouted. "You pushed her!"
Then Griggs hooked his hand behind Angela's elbow and tried to force both arms behind her back. She resisted only by keeping her feet beneath her as he turned her abruptly. Another officer joined him, and the combined pressure knocked her off balance. Her knees struck the pavement before she could lower herself, followed by her shoulder and cheek.
The impact emptied her lungs. Pain flashed along her ribs as Griggs pressed a knee into her back and ordered her not to resist. Angela knew the mechanics of breathing well enough to recognize the danger of the weight on her chest, and she forced out the shortest possible words. "I can't breathe properly. Reduce the pressure. I'm not resisting."