"Go ahead."
"Will the original dashcam footage be preserved?"
"Yes."
"Not only the portion after the second officer arrived?"
"The full available recording associated with this stop."
"Good."
Whitaker nodded.
"Is there anything else?"
Naomi considered telling him about Leonard Price.
About Cedar Valley Recovery.
About the complaints her father had gathered.
But she had not reviewed the records yet.
She knew how dangerous it could be to connect incidents merely because they seemed similar.
So she said, "I'll be submitting additional information after I've had the opportunity to review the relevant documents."
Whitaker studied her.
"All right."
Naomi returned to her car.
She collected her handbag, the folded luncheon invitation, and the black leather credential wallet.
Then she looked down at the dent.
The metallic-gray paint had cracked along the lower edge.
She ran one finger gently above it, careful not to alter the damaged surface.
She thought about Malloy laughing as he kicked the door.
About the way he had treated her questions as insults.
About the fact that the dispatcher had confirmed her driving privileges while he continued demanding a tow.
And about the driver from Cedar Valley Recovery asking whether Malloy had caught another one.
A chill moved through her.
There was something here.
Something larger than one humiliating stop.
She did not yet know what.
But she intended to find out.
Isaiah Brooks was standing on his front porch when Naomi finally arrived.
The sun was low over Lake Roscoe.
Warm golden light fell across the grass.
His modest brick house sat near a stand of tall pine trees, with a narrow driveway leading to a detached garage.
A small American flag moved gently beside the front steps.
Isaiah wore a navy-blue polo shirt, khaki trousers, and old brown leather shoes.
His silver hair was cut close.
His posture remained straight despite a painful knee that sometimes required a cane.
When Naomi turned into the driveway, he smiled.
Then he noticed the dent.
The smile disappeared.
She parked.
Opened the door.
And stepped carefully onto the driveway.
"Baby."
Naomi looked toward him.
"Hey, Dad."
Isaiah descended the steps faster than she expected.
He stopped beside the damaged door.
"What happened?"
Naomi closed her eyes briefly.
"I got pulled over."
His gaze moved from the dent to her face.
"Are you hurt?"
"My shoulder's sore. I had it checked. Nothing serious was found, but the doctor gave me instructions and documented the tenderness."
Isaiah stared at her.
"Who did this?"
Naomi looked toward the lake.
Then back at her father.