The chief had believed that keeping the number of sustained complaints low demonstrated that his officers were professional.
Now he was forced to confront another possibility.
The system might have been producing low numbers because it wasn't examining allegations thoroughly enough.
He looked toward a framed photograph on his desk.
It showed the department's officers standing outside the station during an annual community event.
Pike stood in the second row.
Smiling.
Confident.
A man the chief had worked beside for years.
The chief remembered defending him during city council meetings.
He remembered telling residents that Pike was rough around the edges but effective.
And he remembered dismissing concerns because the sergeant's arrest statistics looked impressive.
For a long time, the chief stared at the photograph.
Then he turned it facedown.
He called the city manager.
"I need to talk to the council."
The manager sounded concerned.
"About the widow's case?"
"About the department."
There was a pause.
Then the chief continued.
"We've got a bigger problem than one sergeant."
The city council meeting drew more residents than anyone expected.
The room was full before the scheduled start time.
People stood along the back wall.
Several local reporters occupied the first row.
And the hardware store owner sat near the front beside his wife.
The widow didn't attend.
Her son wanted her to rest, and she wasn't ready to sit in a room filled with people discussing the most frightening afternoon of her life.
But she sent a short written statement through her attorney.
The council chair read it before the public comments began.
The widow explained that she'd lived in Millhaven for more than fifty years.
She had raised her family there.
Buried her husband there.
And spent much of her adult life volunteering in the community.
She wrote that she had never imagined a trip to purchase a picture hook would end with a police officer slapping her and destroying something precious.
Then the chair reached the final paragraph.
The widow didn't ask the council to praise her husband's military service.
She didn't ask anyone to treat her differently because her son was a general.
She asked that the town examine whether ordinary people could safely question an officer without being threatened.
The room became silent.
Then the chair read the final sentence.
I am old enough to know that nobody can promise me I'll never be frightened again. But I hope the children growing up here won't have to learn that asking a respectful question can be dangerous.