On the next morning, the doorbell rang shortly after nine. I had just poured coffee into the mug I used every day, a plain blue ceramic cup with a chipped handle, and was expecting a package of printer paper. I opened the door with the receipt in my hand.
Sandra stood on the front step between two uniformed police officers.
"I want my pool restored," she said.
I looked from her face to the officers and felt, surprisingly, no rush of anger. The statement was so disconnected from the documents I had been reviewing that it produced something closer to disbelief. Officer Martinez introduced himself. Officer Chen opened his notebook. And I realized that the seven months of invoices, messages, photographs, recordings, and careful notes had been preparing me for a conversation I would otherwise have found almost impossible to conduct calmly.
"Certainly," I said when Martinez asked whether I could explain what had happened. "Would you like to come inside?"
We returned to the kitchen, where Officer Martinez took a seat on one side of the table and Officer Chen remained standing near the hallway. Sandra stayed close to the doorway, perhaps believing that standing apart from the documents would preserve the version of events she had brought with her. I offered the officers coffee. Martinez declined. Chen accepted water, and I poured him a glass while Sandra looked through the window at the empty pool with an expression of injured ownership.
"I want to make sure we understand the complaint correctly," Martinez began. "Ms. Fielding says a pool she had been entitled to use was drained without notice and that she believes this damaged an arrangement between the properties. Is that your understanding?"
"No," Sandra said before I could answer. "It wasn't just an arrangement. It was a shared pool."
Martinez held up his hand in a gentle request for patience. "We'll hear your full explanation. First I need to understand where the pool is located. Ms. Pemberton, is that pool entirely on your parcel?"
"Yes. I have the survey and construction plan."
"And how long have you owned the property?"
"Fifteen years. I installed the pool three years after I bought the house."
Sandra crossed her arms. "That doesn't change the fact that we've used it."
"We'll address the use," Chen said. "We're starting with the ownership question."
I turned the laptop so both officers could see the screen and opened the index. The first page listed the documents, their dates, and their sources. Martinez leaned forward, read down the page, and asked whether I could show him the deed record and parcel map. I did. He compared the printed boundary with the shape of the property outside the window, then asked for the construction permit and final inspection certificate.
The inspection certificate bore my name and address. The permit identified the pool as a private improvement on 14 Cloverfield Road. I opened the original Aqua Design Solutions contract and showed the signature page, then the payment records associated with it. Martinez did not rush through them. He read the dates, compared the addresses, and made a few notes in his pad before opening the county record on his own device to confirm the parcel information independently.