The officer glanced at the grill. "What sort of regulations?"
"Fire restrictions."
The officer looked at me. I opened the next divider. He saw the word FIRE in block letters and let out a quiet sigh.
"You've got paperwork for that too?"
"Yes, sir."
"Of course you do."
He accepted the materials, reviewed the published guidance, and asked about the propane cylinder and the distance to the building. I pointed out the location and explained that I had checked the public-use restrictions as well as the fire requirements. His partner examined the grill, the surrounding ground, and the nearby access area. Nothing was blocking the road, the drainage channel, or a walkway. There were no combustibles piled beside the burners, and the cylinder was secured in its proper position.
"I can't speak for every possible municipal restriction based on a folder," the officer said eventually. "But from what we're seeing and what we've checked, there's no apparent fire-code violation here."
"Thank you," I said.
Linda's voice climbed. "So he can do whatever he wants?"
The officer faced her. "No, ma'am. Nobody gets to do whatever they want. He can do what the law permits. At the moment, we don't see a violation that justifies police enforcement."
That was the first time I saw Linda lose control of her expression without immediately recovering it. She had been so certain that the officers would become an extension of the board's warning that she seemed unable to process their unwillingness to act as her enforcement team. Richard stood silent for several seconds, still holding the plat.
Then he said, "There's also the threat."
The officer turned back to me. "The caller says you threatened a board member. What's that about?"
"Linda attempted to move my cooler. I stepped between her and it and told her not to touch my belongings."
"Did you say anything else?"
"I said, 'Linda, stop. Don't touch my property.' I didn't threaten to hurt her."
Linda interrupted. "That's not what happened. He used his size to intimidate me."
The officer kept his attention on me. "Do you have any way to support your account?"
"I recorded the interaction."
Silence spread through our small group. Linda stared at the phone lying beside the cooler.
"You recorded me?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Without asking permission?"
"I checked the applicable rules before doing so. The recording is of our conversation in this open area."
The officer lifted a hand to prevent another exchange from starting. "Let's stay focused. Mr. Dalton, if you're willing, play the portion that shows what led to the alleged threat."
I picked up my phone, selected the recording, and moved to the relevant section. Before playing it, I turned the screen so the officer could see the time and that it was one continuous file, not a compilation of clips. The first voice that came through was Linda's, unmistakable even against the soft background sound of the grill.
"I've been watching your unit since the dog incident."