Karen glanced at Voss, but he was standing beside his SUV, speaking into a phone held low against his chest. He did not return her look. For the first time since walking across the street, she seemed uncertain whether there was anyone present who would finish her sentences for her.
"I didn't mean anything by it," she said.
Ortega wrote down her words. Then she asked one more question: "Did you tell dispatch the complaint was about water, or did you report something else?"
Karen blinked. "I told them there was a problem with a man and a car. I don't remember the exact wording."
Nia watched the exchange from beside her husband. She had heard enough of Karen's remarks over the previous few days to suspect the officer's behavior had not begun with a misunderstanding about a little soap. But suspicion was not proof, and she knew Jordan would insist on that distinction even when it made the situation harder for him personally. She kept her anger close and concentrated on memorizing the details she would later put into a written statement.
By eleven, the police vehicles had left, except for Ortega's SUV. Voss had been instructed to return to the station separately, and Avery went with him after Ortega secured their preliminary accounts. Jordan sat on the front steps while Nia brought him a glass of water and one of the clean towels they had used during the move. The hose lay where it had fallen, and a pale ribbon of soap still crossed the driveway.
"You want me to finish washing the car?" Nia asked.
Jordan looked at the dent in the hood, then at the streak of water beneath it. "Not today."
She sat beside him. For a while they listened to the neighborhood settling back into Saturday morning: a lawn mower starting two streets away, a delivery truck stopping at a mailbox, children calling to one another somewhere beyond the back fences. A place could become ordinary again remarkably quickly after something terrible happened in the middle of it.
"He didn't know," Jordan said at last.
"Who?"
"Voss. He didn't know my name. Didn't recognize me. Had no idea I was coming in on Monday."
"And?"
Jordan stared across the road at Karen's house. "The second he found out, he started looking for a way to undo the morning. Not because he understood what he'd done. Because it had happened to someone with authority over him."
Nia rested her head against his shoulder, careful of the sore ribs. "What are you going to do?"
"My job," he said, and then paused. "But first, I have to make sure this doesn't become a case where the only reason anyone takes it seriously is that I got hurt."
That afternoon, Nia drove him to an urgent care center. The physician documented bruising at his wrists, tenderness along his ribs, and the absence of a fracture on initial imaging. They were told to watch for worsening symptoms and return if his breathing changed. The examination was routine, but Jordan found himself listening to every word as though the doctor were describing an injury suffered by someone else.