Hutchkins opened the driver’s door without permission.
He reached inside, pulled Imani’s briefcase from the passenger seat, and dropped it onto the driveway. The leather case struck the concrete on one corner. Before she could say anything, he flipped the latches and turned it upside down.
Papers spilled everywhere.
A tablet hit the ground with a cracking sound. Pens rolled beneath the Lexus. Two medical journals fell open facedown. A folder containing board materials slid into the narrow gutter at the edge of the driveway and began absorbing dirty runoff from a sprinkler two houses away.
“Stop,” Imani said. “Those are confidential work documents.”
“Then you should have cooperated.”
“I have cooperated.”
Hutchkins crouched, picked up the plastic badge attached to her lanyard, and studied the photo. DIRECTOR, RIVERSIDE COMMUNITY HEALTH CENTER. He looked at her, then back at the badge.
“This supposed to impress me?”
“It’s my employee identification.”
“Anybody can print one of these.”
He tossed it toward the pavement. It landed faceup in a smear of sprinkler water.
Officer Brennan took one step forward. “Derek, her license matches the address.”
Hutchkins ignored him.
He moved to the rear of the Lexus, pressed the trunk release, and opened it. Inside were two folded reusable shopping bags, a first-aid kit, a pair of soccer cleats Maya had forgotten the week before, and a cardboard box of clinic brochures Imani planned to bring to a school health fair.
No drugs.
No contraband.
Nothing remotely suspicious.
Hutchkins slammed the trunk.
Imani lifted her head from the hood. “Are we finished?”
He looked toward the porch.
The two grocery bags waited beside the front door.
“No,” he said.
He walked up the three steps, seized both bags by their cloth handles, and carried them down. Imani watched in disbelief as he overturned the first one. Tomatoes bounced once, then split. Strawberries scattered. A carton of eggs struck the edge of the driveway and opened like a book, six shells breaking instantly.
The second bag followed.
Pasta. Lettuce. Chicken. Olive oil. A loaf of bread.
Everything she had bought for her family was spread across the concrete.
Tom Carter stopped pretending he might simply be witnessing a routine police encounter. He raised his phone with both hands and zoomed slightly.
“Officer,” he called from across the street. “What are you doing?”
Hutchkins turned his head. “Police business. Stay on your property.”
“I am on my property.”
“Then stay there.”
Imani pushed herself away from the hood. “You’ve searched the car. You found nothing. Let me go inside.”
Hutchkins looked down at the groceries.
“Clean it up.”
For the first time, Imani thought she might lose control of her voice.
“You dumped it.”
“Clean it up.”
“I’m not your servant.”
The word servant changed something in his expression.
He took a half step closer. “You want to make this harder?”
“No. I want to go home.”
“Then get on your knees and pick up the mess.”
The street was quiet enough for the words to carry.