At home, Nia photographed the marks with his permission, noting the date and time. She also photographed the dent in the hood, the wet driveway, and the small patch of sidewalk where the water had flowed. They saved the original files from their doorbell camera and made protected copies of the footage. Jordan knew the steps because he had taught similar procedures to officers in training, and the familiarity only made the experience stranger.
He checked his phone after dinner. There were messages from the city manager, the outgoing chief, and three members of the town council who had somehow learned what happened. One message began with an apology and a promise that "nothing like this will ever happen again." Another said the incident was likely an unfortunate misunderstanding. Jordan read both and put the phone aside without answering immediately.
"They're trying to get ahead of it," Nia said.
"They're trying to define it before anyone has investigated it."
"Which is exactly why you need an investigation that doesn't belong to you."
Jordan nodded. "I'm going to ask for an outside review. And I'm going to step away from any decision about Voss's discipline."
"You know some people will call that weakness."
"They can call it what they want. If I use my new position to punish a man who hurt me personally, I hand everyone an excuse to dismiss the rest of the evidence."
Nia considered him for a moment. "I don't want him protected just because he wore a uniform. But I also don't want him punished because you wear one with a bigger title. I want the truth."
"So do I."
A little after eight that evening, there was a knock at the front door. Jordan opened it to find Evelyn Price standing on the porch with a covered baking dish. She had changed out of the clothes she wore while recording and now had a blue cardigan wrapped around her shoulders. She looked nervous in the way people look when they are about to say something they have rehearsed several times.
"I made chicken and rice," she said. "I thought you might not feel like cooking."
Nia appeared behind Jordan and invited her inside. Evelyn declined at first, but Jordan asked whether she would at least sit with them for a few minutes. They settled at the kitchen table, where the moving boxes still stood along one wall and the smell of packing tape had not entirely disappeared.
"I watched it happen," Evelyn said when Nia brought tea. "I stood there with a phone in my hand and thought, if I walk down there, that officer might turn on me. I'm ashamed of that."
"You don't need to be ashamed for being frightened," Jordan said.
"I wasn't frightened for myself alone. My son drives through this town in a work truck. My grandson is seventeen. I've heard stories from people who were stopped for things that never made sense, and I told myself there must be an explanation. Today I saw a man washing a car and getting treated like a criminal, and I realized how much work I'd been doing to avoid believing what my own neighbors said."