"What did you say?" Voss asked.
"His name is Jordan Brooks," Nia said. "The town council hired him as your next police chief. He starts Monday. You might have read the announcement."
Voss stared at her, then at the man against the car. Jordan was still bent over the hood, handcuffed, his sandals slipping slightly on the wet concrete. Nothing about him had changed in the last ten seconds. The only new information was a title, and suddenly the officer who had refused to listen seemed desperate to find words.
"There's been a misunderstanding," Voss said.
Jordan lifted his head as far as he safely could. "There has," he replied. "But not the one you're thinking of."
"Officer Avery," Jordan said, keeping his voice even, "would you please tell me whether I am under arrest, or whether I am being temporarily detained?"
Avery looked at Voss. "Sir, I—"
"Don't answer him," Voss snapped, then immediately seemed to regret the tone. He straightened his shirt, shifted his belt, and made a brief effort to look like a man conducting a routine investigation. "Mr. Brooks, the resident reported a safety concern, and you became uncooperative. We were securing the scene."
"My husband asked why you wanted his registration," Nia said. "I heard him through the kitchen window. Then I heard your voice get louder. Nobody gave him an order to get away from the car or told him he was under arrest before you pushed him onto it."
"Ma'am, you need to stand back."
"I am standing on my own front steps."
Karen lifted the little dog higher against her chest. "I don't care what his job is supposed to be. He still broke the neighborhood rules. You can't let people do whatever they want just because they know somebody important."
Jordan turned his head in her direction. "I agree with the second part, Mrs. Whitcomb. Nobody should be allowed to do whatever they want because they know somebody important."
Karen blinked, uncertain whether she had just been supported or rebuked. Voss's radio crackled again. He spoke into the microphone, asking dispatch to confirm the identity of the incoming police chief, and the wait that followed was long enough for two more neighbors to emerge onto their porches. Avery glanced toward the small camera mounted beside the Brookses' front door, then toward the phone in Evelyn Price's hand across the street.
"Unit Twelve," the dispatcher said, her voice tinny but clear, "the incoming chief is Jordan Anthony Brooks. Effective Monday. Appointment confirmed through the city manager's office."
Voss stopped breathing for an instant. The radio continued with an unrelated call, but he did not seem to hear it. He looked toward the cuffs, then toward Avery, and finally toward Nia with a thin smile that did not reach his eyes.
"Well," he said, "I think we can clear this up."
"How?" Nia asked.