"Don't go looking for those officers," Patricia said. "I'm not planning to," Jackson replied, though the answer required effort. She let the silence remain for a moment before telling him that nothing would help Beatrice less than another confrontation. Jackson thanked her and promised to meet at the station, then continued driving through a dark stretch of highway that seemed longer than any road he had traveled before.
Henry reached the precinct first. He was fifty, broad in the shoulders, and accustomed to fixing things with roofing tools and practical instructions. A desk clerk refused to tell him much beyond the fact that Beatrice was being held on criminal charges, and the words left Henry standing at the counter with both hands flat against the laminate. Raymond arrived with a jacket and clean shoes for their mother, while Marcus drove to the hospital to ask about discharge instructions. For the first time in years the brothers were all awake in the same hour, coordinating their movements the way they had when William was dying.
Beatrice was brought into a small interview room shortly after dawn. Her face had been cleaned, but one side was swollen, and the brace beneath her loose hospital shirt made ordinary movements appear carefully negotiated. Henry reached for her, then stopped because he was afraid an embrace might hurt. Beatrice solved the problem by placing her good hand against his cheek and asking whether he had fed his dog before leaving home.
"Mama, that can wait," Henry said. "No, it cannot," she answered, because caring about something ordinary made the frightening room less powerful. Raymond laughed once, a strained sound that ended too quickly, and set the shoes on the table. Beatrice wanted to put them on herself, but she could not bend far enough without pain, so her son knelt beside the chair and helped her without comment.
Patricia arrived carrying a leather briefcase and a folder of preliminary paperwork. She found inconsistencies in the booking narrative almost immediately. Stanton's report claimed that Beatrice had struck him while attempting to conceal an unknown object, but the description of the alleged blow changed between his written statement and the short incident summary. Reed's form repeated several of Stanton's sentences word for word, including an awkward phrase about sudden threatening movement.
The attorney also learned that the vehicle had been towed to a private lot even though the registration was in order and the car had been legally parked when the officers detained Beatrice. The inventory listed a yellow envelope, loose napkins, and an assortment of personal items, but no weapon. It identified the bent radio tool as a butter knife, something William had once filed smooth so it would not damage the old dashboard. The absence of a weapon did not make every conceivable stop unlawful, Patricia explained, but it mattered when the officers claimed to have used extreme force because of an immediate threat.
Jackson arrived just as Patricia finished arranging Beatrice's release on bond. He entered the lobby quietly, a tall man in a plain gray shirt whose expression changed the instant he saw his mother. Beatrice tried to stand, and he shook his head before crossing the room to kneel beside her. For several seconds they looked at one another without speaking, because the bruise beneath her cheekbone was worse than anything she had managed to describe over the telephone.