Instead, he called the police non-emergency number.
“Seattle police. What are you reporting?”
“Hi. I’m the manager at Peak Street Coffee at Fourth and Pike.”
Dylan was technically the assistant manager, but he was the senior person on duty.
“We have someone here loitering. She’s making customers uncomfortable.”
“Is she threatening anyone?”
“No.”
“Causing a disturbance?”
“Not exactly.”
“Has she damaged property?”
“No.”
“Is she refusing to pay?”
“No.”
The dispatcher paused.
“Is she a customer?”
“She bought something.”
“How long has she been there?”
“Maybe thirty, forty minutes.”
Another pause.
“Have you asked her to leave?”
“Not yet.”
“Has she violated a posted store policy?”
“We reserve the right to refuse service.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Dylan felt embarrassed.
“She’s making people uncomfortable.”
“Has anyone specifically complained?”
He looked across the room.
“No, but I’m the manager. I can tell.”
The dispatcher coded the call as a business-requested removal rather than an emergency.
An available officer was sent.
Craig Bartlett saw the call appear on his screen.
BUSINESS COMPLAINT.
LOITERING.
MANAGER REQUESTS REMOVAL.
DOWNTOWN.
That was enough for his mind to form an expectation before he ever reached the café.
Probably homeless.
Maybe mentally unstable.
Could become confrontational.
He parked outside at 8:27.
Walked in.
The café was crowded.
Bartlett scanned the room.
His eyes passed over a white man with a beard sleeping upright near the back wall.
Passed over two students with backpacks covering an extra chair.
Passed over the man by the plant.
Then stopped on Jennifer.
Black woman.
Alone.
Laptop.
Bag beside her.
Something in his mind clicked.
There.
He did not ask Dylan to point out the person.
He walked straight to Jennifer.
That detail would later matter enormously.
“You need to leave now.”
Jennifer blinked.
“What?”
“I said you need to leave.”
She glanced toward the counter.
“Why?”
“The manager says you’re making people uncomfortable.”
Jennifer looked around.
Nobody had been watching her before Bartlett arrived.
Now nearly everybody was.
“I’m sitting here working.”
“This is private property.”
“I’m a customer.”
“You’ve been asked to leave.”
“No one asked me anything before you arrived.”
Bartlett looked toward the counter.
Dylan was watching.
Bartlett interpreted the look as confirmation.
Jennifer interpreted it as cowardice.
“Are you leaving voluntarily?”
“Officer, what exactly am I accused of doing?”
“You’re trespassing.”
“No. Trespassing would require me to remain after a lawful request to leave. The business never approached me.”
“I’m approaching you now.”
“You’re police. That’s different.”
“Not when the property manager wants you gone.”
Jennifer felt heat beginning behind her sternum.
Not panic.
Anger.