“Yes.”
“Was there a traffic stop?”
“No. I was unlocking my front door.”
Morrison turned to Brennan. “Officer Brennan?”
The young officer swallowed.
“We were driving through,” he said. “Officer Hutchkins said he wanted to check the address.”
“Why?”
Brennan glanced at Hutchkins.
“Answer me.”
“He said someone here didn’t belong.”
Hutchkins’s face hardened. “That’s not what I meant.”
Morrison ignored him. “Did you observe a crime?”
“No, Sergeant.”
“Traffic violation?”
“No.”
“Did you smell marijuana?”
The question seemed to age Brennan several years.
“No, ma’am.”
Hutchkins stepped toward him. “Kyle—”
Morrison moved between them.
“No. You do not speak to him right now.”
She turned to Imani. “Did you consent to the vehicle search?”
“No.”
Morrison looked at Hutchkins. “Warrant?”
“No.”
“Exigent circumstances?”
“I smelled marijuana.”
“Your partner did not.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t.”
Morrison pointed to Imani’s wet shirt. “Did you pour something on her?”
Hutchkins’s jaw worked.
“She was being disrespectful.”
“Did. You. Pour. Something. On. Her?”
A long pause.
“Yes.”
Morrison closed her eyes for one second.
When she opened them, command replaced every other emotion.
“Turn around, ma’am.”
Imani’s body tensed.
“I’m removing the cuffs,” Morrison said.
The metal released.
Blood rushed back into Imani’s hands with a painful throb.
She rubbed her wrists and stared at the red rings left behind.
“Are you injured?” Morrison asked.