“Yes.”
“Dispatch.”
“Yes.”
“Sergeant Hollister’s personal phone contains relevant material.”
Keller glanced toward him.
Hollister looked away.
“I’ll have counsel address that.”
“Good.”
Iris continued.
“Main Street businesses likely have surveillance.”
“We’ll canvass.”
“My field camera recorded the encounter.”
Keller stared.
“Field camera?”
“Yes.”
Hollister turned sharply.
Iris looked at him.
His face changed.
“You were recording me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s entrapment.”
“No.”
“You came here trying to provoke something.”
“I asked why you stopped me.”
Hollister moved toward her.
Keller stepped between them.
“Wade.”
Hollister stopped.
“Chief, she set me up.”
Keller looked at Iris’s muddy clothes.
Then at the gutter.
Then at Hollister.
“Go back to the station.”
“Chief—”
“Now.”
Hollister stared at him.
For a second, Keller wondered whether he would refuse.
Then Hollister turned.
Davis started toward the patrol vehicle.
Keller said, “Not you.”
Davis stopped.
“You ride separately.”
Hollister looked back.
The message was clear.
Separation had begun.
At the hospital, X-rays showed no fracture.
Iris had a deep shoulder contusion, strained soft tissue, bruising along her hip, and several abrasions.
Nothing requiring surgery.
The doctor wanted her resting.
She wanted an ice pack and her laptop.
“You federal people are all insane,” the doctor said.
“Probably.”
“You’re not working today.”
“I have a meeting at two.”
“No.”
Iris looked at him.
He pointed toward the brace.
“That arm stays supported.”
“Fine.”
“You rest.”
“I’ll sit.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
At 11:17, Marcus Ellison arrived from Denver.
He walked into the hospital room, saw her shoulder, and said nothing for five seconds.
Then:
“I told you.”
Iris sighed.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I specifically told you.”
“I remember.”
Marcus set a briefcase down.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you understand what my morning has been?”
“Peaceful?”
He stared.
“You were kicked into a gutter by an officer whose department we are reviewing.”
“That summarizes it.”
“Your humor is making me angry.”
“Your anger is making me tired.”
Marcus pulled a chair closer.
Then his expression changed.
“You okay?”
The question was different this time.
Iris looked at him.
“Yes.”
He waited.
She exhaled.
“No.”
Marcus nodded.
“That’s allowed.”
Iris looked toward the window.
“I’ve reviewed force videos for twelve years.”
“I know.”
“I’ve interviewed people who were hurt worse.”
“That doesn’t make this small.”