“I don’t know yet.”
“Do you want medical attention?”
“I want this documented before anything disappears.”
Morrison nodded once. “It will be.”
Across the street, Tom called, “I have video from almost the beginning.”
Margaret Patterson raised her phone. “Chief Donovan is on the line.”
Morrison turned toward her.
“Put him on speaker.”
Before Margaret could move, a ringing sound came from the broken phone on the driveway.
The shattered screen lit.
Morrison bent and picked it up.
The caller ID was still readable.
JAMES — CITY HALL.
Morrison looked at Imani.
Then at the house number.
Then at Hutchkins.
Recognition arrived slowly and completely.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Imani took the phone.
She pressed the answer icon and deliberately tapped speaker.
“Honey?” James Richardson’s voice came through, warm and distracted. “The budget meeting ran late. Donovan’s still here. I should be home by five-thirty. Want me to grab dinner?”
Imani looked at the groceries spread around her feet.
“James,” she said. “I need you to come home now.”
His tone changed instantly.
“What happened?”
“I was stopped by a police officer while unlocking our front door. He searched my car without consent, destroyed my groceries and work materials, poured his drink on me, broke my phone, and handcuffed me.”
Silence.
When James spoke again, the husband was gone from his voice.
“Put the officer on.”
Hutchkins did not move toward the phone.
James’s voice came again, louder this time. “Who is the officer?”
Imani held the broken device out.
Hutchkins stepped forward as though the distance between him and the phone had suddenly become much larger than the driveway. “Officer Derek Hutchkins, sir.”
“Badge number.”
“4739.”
“Officer Hutchkins,” James said, “I am sitting in a conference room with Police Chief Michael Donovan, City Attorney Sarah Carter, and three members of the city council. Did you just place my wife in handcuffs at our home?”
Hutchkins looked at the neighbors, at Morrison, at Brennan, at Imani. “Sir, I didn’t know who she was.”
Nobody spoke.
Even Hutchkins seemed to hear what he had admitted.
James’s voice became quieter. “That was not my question.”
Hutchkins swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Did you search her vehicle?”
“Yes, sir, but I believed—”
“Did you have a warrant?”