"Of course, evidence will be preserved," Langford said. "But I hope we can handle a misunderstanding without turning it into a national incident. Small town, you know. People talk."
"People were talking before we arrived," Aaron replied. "We came because the Department of Justice has been receiving complaints for months. This morning happened while we were here reviewing them."
The chief's smile tightened. He looked from Aaron to Nathaniel, then toward the officers at the reception desk. "I was told your office had questions about administrative records. I had no idea you intended to make arrests at my station."
"We don't intend to make arrests," Nathaniel said. "That decision belongs to the appropriate investigators and prosecutors, based on evidence and law. We're here to request cooperation. If the department has handled those complaints properly, your files should show it."
"Our department handles complaints internally," Langford said. "We have a process."
"Then let's see the process."
Langford led them to a conference room where a long oak table bore scratches left by years of department meetings. A wall chart displayed call response times, clearance percentages, and community-event participation. The column labeled civilian complaints showed only a handful over several years. Nathaniel had a preliminary list from federal intake attorneys containing more than sixty communications from Millbrook residents during a shorter period.
Some concerned matters outside federal jurisdiction. Others were incomplete or disputed. But even allowing for those differences, the numbers did not match.
"How many complaints have you received in the past eighteen months?" Aaron asked.
"I would have to ask our professional standards coordinator."
"How many were sustained?"
"We have a very good record. Our officers work hard. The public doesn't always understand the pressures they're under."
"That wasn't the question," Aaron said.
Langford's expression hardened, then softened again as he noticed the open doorway. "I won't be interrogated in my own conference room, Agent Brooks. If this is a formal investigation, you can send an official request. We will respond through counsel."
"We already have," Nathaniel said. "Three weeks ago. Your counsel promised the relevant records for today's city hall meeting. We are not requesting anything new by asking where those records are."
The chief looked toward the wall chart as though hoping it might provide a better answer. He had received the request and instructed his staff to prepare a limited packet, but he had not expected the investigators to be the two men Kesler had detained in front of half the town. His usual strategy relied on time: acknowledge concerns, request patience, refer matters to a review process, and wait for public interest to move on. This morning had deprived him of the one thing he most needed. The clock was being kept by people outside his office.
Nathaniel opened the leather notebook. He did not spread dramatic photographs across the table. He read a name and a date.
"Isaiah Monroe. March fourth. Stopped on Mercer Avenue at four twelve in the morning. Filed a complaint that afternoon."
"Closed unfounded at nine forty-seven. No witness interview recorded. March seventeenth, second stop. Complaint closed in forty-three minutes. April second, third stop. Complaint closed in thirty-seven minutes."