She examined the shoulder.
“No obvious deformity. We’re going to move carefully.”
Pike said, “He’s still detained.”
Warren looked up.
“Fine. He’s also my patient.”
Pike’s jaw tightened.
Bennett removed the single cuff.
Pike looked at him.
“What are you doing?”
“EMS needs access.”
“You don't make that decision.”
Bennett looked back.
“I just did.”
At 7:29 p.m., a black Chevrolet Tahoe turned into the parking lot.
No emergency lights.
No siren.
It parked crooked because the driver did not bother correcting the angle.
A tall Black man in a white dress shirt got out before the engine fully stopped.
He was forty-seven.
Broad-shouldered.
Close-cropped gray beginning at his temples.
He crossed the parking lot quickly but did not run.
Jordan saw him.
“Dad.”
The man’s face changed.
Until then, he had been scanning the scene professionally: ambulance, officers, wheelchair, witnesses, positions.
Then he saw his son lying on the pavement.
Professionalism disappeared for one second.
“Jordan.”
He moved toward him.
Pike stepped in front.
“Sir, stay back.”
The man stopped.
“This is my son.”
“I understand.”
“No, I don't think you do.”
Pike put one hand out.
“We're conducting an investigation.”
The man looked at the hand.
Then at Pike’s body camera.
Then at Jordan.
“What happened?”
Pike began, “Your son was detained during a suspicious-person investigation. He became noncompliant—”
Jordan’s father looked past him.
“Jordan?”
Jordan said, “He told me to stand up.”
The man became very still.
Pike continued.
“He refused commands and physically resisted when I attempted to detain him.”
Jordan said, “He pulled me out of my chair.”
“I did not pull you out.”
“You grabbed me.”
“You caused the chair to tip by resisting.”
Ms. Reynolds stepped forward.
“I watched it.”
Pike turned.
“Ma’am, I already told you—”
Jordan’s father raised one hand.
Not at Ms. Reynolds.
At Pike.
“Stop.”
Pike stared.
“Excuse me?”
“I want EMS to treat my son. I want every body-camera recording preserved. I want the library surveillance preserved. I want the CAD call, dispatch audio, and original 911 recording preserved.”
Pike frowned.
“Who are you?”
The man looked directly at him.
“Michael Ellis.”
Nothing changed in Pike’s face.
The name meant nothing yet.
Bennett’s face changed.
He had been looking at Michael for several seconds.
Now recognition arrived.
“Oh, no.”
Pike glanced at him.
“What?”
Bennett did not answer.
Michael crouched beside Jordan.
“Can I touch you?”
Jordan nodded.
Michael placed one hand gently behind his head.
“Dad, I’m okay.”
“No, you're not.”
“I mean—I’m not dying.”
Michael almost smiled.
“Low bar.”
Lisa Warren asked, “Mr. Ellis, we'd like to transport him for imaging.”
“Yes.”
“We have a possible shoulder injury, maybe soft tissue, and we want the hip checked because of his baseline condition.”
“Do whatever you need.”