Evelyn made tea while the necessary arrangements were completed.
Camille sat in the living room, still wearing her olive-gray jacket, striped crop top, sage-green skirt, and white-and-gray sneakers.
The tiny yellow handbag rested beside her on the sofa.
Her shoulder ached.
Her hands were trembling slightly.
For a moment, she wondered whether accepting the sheriff appointment had been a mistake.
The department was more troubled than she'd realized.
And she hadn't even started work.
Then she looked toward the photograph of Evelyn and her late husband on the mantelpiece.
She remembered why she'd returned.
People like Harold needed a system willing to examine complaints.
People like Solis needed supervisors who wouldn't punish them for telling the truth.
And people like Voss needed boundaries that didn't disappear whenever they became angry.
Camille took a slow breath.
She wasn't going to walk away.
At six-forty that evening, Captain Michael Rowan received a call from Lieutenant Cross.
Rowan was fifty-five, a distinguished white American command officer with nearly thirty years of law-enforcement experience.
He had agreed to assist with the transition between Sheriff Bell's administration and the new sheriff.
He knew Camille from the county's appointment process.
He respected her investigative background.
And he'd been preparing the midnight command briefing when Cross called.
"Captain, we had an incident involving Sergeant Voss."
Rowan sighed.
"What kind of incident?"
"Vehicle stop. Unjustified damage allegations. Multiple broken windows."
The captain stopped writing.
"Where?"
Cross provided the address.
Then gave the vehicle owner's name.
"Camille Hayes."
For a moment, Rowan didn't move.
He looked toward the transition file on his desk.
The name appeared at the top.
Beneath it was a photograph of the incoming sheriff.
He closed his eyes.
Then asked, "Are you certain?"
Cross sounded confused.
"Yes, sir. Her license was verified."
Rowan took a slow breath.
"Lieutenant, do you know who Camille Hayes is?"
There was a pause.
Then Cross answered.
"No, sir."
Rowan looked toward the wall clock.
Midnight was still several hours away.
He could have told Cross immediately.
The appointment was public information.
But he wanted to avoid turning an already serious incident into a rumor-filled argument over rank.
He instructed the lieutenant to preserve the relevant evidence, follow the current reporting procedures, and ensure independent handling of any review.
Then he ended the call.
For several seconds, he stared at the transition file.
Finally, he whispered to himself.
"Of all the days."
Rowan called Camille shortly afterward.
She answered from Evelyn's living room.
"Captain."
His voice was serious.
"I heard about the incident."
Camille looked toward the damaged Bentley through the window.
"I assumed you would."
"Are you all right?"
"My shoulder hurts. The car's a mess. But I'm safe."
Rowan exhaled.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he asked whether she wanted to postpone the midnight briefing.