They finally went upstairs well after one. Regina lay close beside him, but neither slept quickly. Every time a vehicle drove down Maple Court, she lifted her head. Francis listened too, knowing it was irrational to interpret every passing engine as a threat and yet unable to dismiss the possibility entirely.
He had confronted dangerous people in professional settings with teams, radios, and defined procedures. That morning had been different. His family, his home, and his sense of ordinary safety had all been drawn into a conflict he had not chosen.
On Sunday morning, he dressed in a pressed blue shirt and dark trousers. Presentation mattered, even though he resented that it did. When somebody described him as aggressive, he knew that every future interaction might be filtered through that allegation. He packed a manila folder with his statement, photographs, a still image from Regina's video, and a request to preserve all related records. Regina offered to accompany him, but he wanted her to have a few hours without being confronted by uniforms. He promised to call before leaving the department.
The police station stood in a low brick building beside a parking lot with faded lines. Francis had passed it many times without thinking about what the building looked like from the position of someone filing a complaint. Inside, fluorescent lights flattened the colors of old photographs on the walls. A public-service poster promised transparency and respect. Francis approached the front desk, where a heavyset officer named Daly was tapping at a computer with one finger. The officer looked up only after Francis had been standing there long enough to clear his throat.
"Help you?" Daly asked. "I'd like to file a formal complaint concerning Officer Darius Mason, with supporting evidence," Francis said. He placed the folder on the counter. "Captain Vanji told me yesterday that she'd personally review the incident.
I'd like to speak with her if she's available." Daly flipped through the pages without appearing especially interested. "Captain's out today." Francis asked whether she had left a designated contact. Daly shook his head and said Francis could leave the statement.
"Will I receive an acknowledgment?" Francis asked. Daly shrugged. "Somebody'll log it."
Francis kept his tone pleasant. "Could you tell me when?" The officer sighed and glanced at the line beginning to form behind him. "We have a backlog.
Couple weeks, maybe." Francis stared for a moment, not because the delay surprised him, but because it was so casually offered. The complaint concerned an officer drawing a weapon during a disputed detention the previous morning, yet the first answer was a backlog measured in weeks.
"Please stamp a copy with today's date and confirm that the complaint was received," Francis said. Daly looked annoyed. "You a lawyer?" "No." "Then you know an awful lot about paperwork."