“Shut her up,” Kessler muttered.
“I am requesting legal counsel,” Claire went on. “I am requesting preservation of all body camera footage. I am requesting the identity of the reporting party and the basis for probable cause.”
Dugan shoved her between the shoulders.
Harder than necessary.
Another note for later.
Outside, blue lights washed the small front lawn and the cracked sidewalk in violent color.
Claire’s little rental sat on a quiet street lined with postage-stamp yards and tired porches. The kind of block where people worked long hours, waved across chain-link fences, and minded their own business until sirens forced them not to.
A curtain moved in the house across the street.
A porch light clicked on next door.
Kessler stuffed her into the back of the cruiser.
She turned awkwardly with her hands cuffed behind her and sat down without a word.
As the door slammed, she caught her own reflection in the glass.
