"Move."
"That's my son's cake."
Mitchell's mouth tightened. "Then teach your son that when the police respond to a complaint, the party ends."
With both hands, she seized the edge of the birthday table and tipped it forward. The plates slid first, then the cake stand, then a stack of gift bags. The cake hit the pavement near Marcus's shoes and broke open, scattering frosting across the concrete. A plastic Spider-Man figure rolled beneath a bench. For one suspended second, the children stared as if they expected a grown-up to reverse what had happened. Then Marcus cried out and rushed toward the ruined cake.
"No! Mom made that!" he shouted.
Maya caught him before he stepped into the spilled food. He struggled against her arms, reaching for the broken cake stand. "It's my birthday! She can't do that!"
Barnes shoved the serving table while the adults were still watching the child. A tray of chicken slid onto the grass, followed by bowls of potato salad and fruit. Cruz overturned a stack of folding chairs and kicked aside the cooler holding party favors. Small toys scattered like dropped coins. The sound of plastic breaking was quiet compared with the officer's laughter, but Marcus heard it clearly.
James felt the first surge of rage rise through his body. He had seen destruction during raids and accidents; he had learned to distinguish immediate danger from a situation that could be contained. This was neither. This was deliberate cruelty performed for children who could not defend themselves. His son knelt beside Maya, crying over a cake that could not be put back together, and the officers seemed pleased with the effect.
Mrs. Washington braced herself against the table. "Stop it," she called. "Those are children's presents. Please, leave them alone."
Mitchell turned on her. "Sit down before you make yourself a problem."
"I taught children longer than you've been wearing that uniform," Mrs. Washington replied, voice shaking. "I know the difference between discipline and bullying."
Barnes took a step toward her. James saw the elderly woman stiffen, and he moved immediately into the gap between them. He kept his hands visible and did not touch anyone. He simply stood there, creating enough space for Robert to guide Mrs. Washington back to her seat.
"Leave her alone," James said. "She has trouble standing. The reservation is in my name. Whatever questions you have, ask me."
Mitchell stared up at him. "There's that attitude again. You want to be in charge so badly? Fine. Everybody can watch what happens to the person in charge."
She ordered him away from the tables and toward the open concrete beside the pavilion. James complied, aware that Kesha was recording and that Sarah Carter's team might be watching from a distance. Still, he was not thinking about an arrest affidavit at that moment. He was thinking about how to keep the lieutenant's anger focused on him instead of the children.