"How many complaints has he had?"
The chief did not immediately answer. She knew that giving unverified numbers at an active scene could compromise the investigation, but she also knew that simply promising a review would sound like every other empty assurance. "I've ordered his complete history preserved," she said. "I will not minimize what that history shows."
Daniel Carter spoke from behind the fence. "We can tell you some of it. We've heard stories for years."
Winters turned. "Then I want those stories documented too."
At that moment Simone's phone rang. The screen displayed James's name, and something in her chest finally gave way. She answered before the second ring.
"Simone," he said, his voice strained. "I saw a clip. Are you hurt? I'm leaving the hospital as soon as another surgeon can cover my next case. Tell me you're safe."
"I'm safe now. The officer isn't near me."
"You sound cold. Are you indoors?"
"Not yet. I was trying to help with the evidence."
"The evidence can wait five minutes. Please get warm."
She wanted to argue, then realized her teeth were chattering. "Come home when you can. I need you."
It was the first time all morning she had said those words. Hearing herself say them frightened her more than she expected. She had been trained to remain composed, to distinguish emotion from fact, to speak steadily when rooms became difficult. None of that training kept her body from shaking when the immediate danger ended.
Eleanor walked with her to the porch, careful of the disturbed plants and the wet step. At the door, Simone turned and saw Whitmore standing beside a patrol vehicle with Thompson nearby. His shoulders had fallen; he seemed to have shrunk inside the uniform he had used as a threat. She felt no satisfaction in his humiliation. She felt exhausted and angry that dignity had required such a price to make itself visible.
She was about to step inside when a woman in blue hospital scrubs hurried around the corner from an arriving car. She had brown hair tied in a loose ponytail, a face drawn with alarm, and a badge from a local hospital hanging at her waist. Her eyes found Whitmore immediately.
"Derek?" she called. "What happened? I got a message from someone at work. What have you done?"
The officer's face changed. "Jennifer, go home."
"They showed me a video. I thought it was fake." She looked at Simone's soaked clothing and then at the hose lying across the grass. "Tell me you didn't do that."
Whitmore said nothing. Jennifer turned toward Mills, who could not meet her eyes. She had worked as a nurse long enough to recognize shock in another person's face, and she knew that silence sometimes answered the question nobody wanted to hear answered.
"You attacked a woman in her yard," she said. "Why?"
"I didn't know who she was."
Jennifer stared at him. "And what difference should that make?"