Her cream blouse had turned brown along one side.
Her glasses lay three feet away.
One lens cracked diagonally.
Hollister said, “Caption it: where they belong.”
The hardware-store owner stopped smiling.
The woman across the street lowered her phone slightly.
For the first time, the crowd did not look entertained.
Davis’s face went pale.
“I’m not posting that.”
Hollister turned.
“I said film.”
Iris sat upright.
She looked at Hollister.
Her voice was quiet.
“You should preserve everything you just recorded.”
Hollister laughed.
“There she goes again.”
“Your body camera too.”
“You think some camera is going to save you?”
Iris looked toward her backpack.
The tiny recording light remained hidden beneath torn fabric.
“No.”
She looked back at him.
“The fourteen complaints already in my file might.”
Hollister’s smile weakened.
“What file?”
Iris did not answer.
Davis looked at her.
Then at the bag.
Something about the sentence reached him.
Fourteen complaints.
File.
Courthouse.
Lawyer.
He stepped toward the backpack.
Hollister snapped, “Leave it.”
Davis ignored him.
He bent.
The torn zipper had opened farther.
A black leather credential case was visible beneath the damaged folder.
Davis pulled it free.
Hollister said, “What are you doing?”
Davis opened it.
His face changed.
Iris watched recognition arrive.
FEDERAL CIVIL RIGHTS COMPLIANCE DIVISION.
OFFICIAL CREDENTIAL.
IRIS GREEN.
SENIOR SPECIAL INVESTIGATOR.
Davis looked at Hollister.
Then back at the credential.
“Sergeant.”
Hollister’s voice hardened.
“What?”
Davis swallowed.
“Stop.”
Hollister stared.
Davis held up the credential.
“She’s federal.”
Silence.
Hollister looked toward Iris.
Then at the black folder.
Then at the crowd.
His face lost color.
“What agency?”
Davis told him.
Hollister stared at Iris.
“You should have identified yourself.”
Iris slowly got to one knee.
Pain shot through her shoulder.
Davis moved to help.
She raised one hand.
“No.”
She stood on her own.
Mud dripped from her jacket.
She walked toward the broken glasses.
Bent carefully.
Picked them up.
Then turned toward Hollister.
“I identified myself as a person asking what legal basis you had to stop me.”
Hollister’s eyes narrowed.
“That credential should’ve been the first thing you showed.”
“No.”
Iris slipped the damaged glasses into her pocket.
“It should not take a federal credential to make you follow the law.”
The woman across the street was still recording.
Iris pointed toward her.
“Please don’t delete that.”
The woman nodded.
“I won’t.”
Hollister stepped toward Iris.
“You set this up.”
Davis stared at him.
Iris almost laughed.
“You stopped me.”
“You came here looking for trouble.”
“I came here looking at complaints.”