Then disbelief.
Then something much closer to fear.
He leaned toward the identification.
Read it.
Looked at my face.
Then read it again.
Behind him, Sergeant Keller stopped smiling.
The officer near the coffee counter lowered his hands.
Another slowly straightened.
Rourke swallowed.
"State Bureau of Investigation?"
I nodded.
He looked at Keller.
Then back at me.
"Public Integrity?"
"That's correct."
The room fell silent.
I closed the credential holder.
Then placed it carefully inside my soaked jacket.
"I came here to examine allegations involving officers assigned to this precinct."
Nobody spoke.
I looked toward the empty cup in Rourke's hand.
"And within five minutes of entering the building, you've provided me with a separate incident that requires documentation."
Rourke's face turned pale.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then tried to smile.
"Come on, man. I didn't know—"
I raised one hand.
"Stop."
He froze.
I looked directly into his eyes.
"Would you have poured coffee over me if I were your commanding officer?"
He said nothing.
"Would you have shoved the district attorney?"
Still nothing.
"Would you have done it to the police chief?"
His eyes dropped.
I nodded slowly.
"That's what I thought."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then I looked toward Sergeant Keller.
"Preserve the breakroom surveillance recording."
Keller swallowed.
"Of course."
"And any relevant hallway footage."
He nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"Nobody deletes anything, edits anything, or attempts to explain away what happened before the incident is documented."
Rourke looked toward the floor.
I continued.
"I also want the names of every officer who witnessed it."
Keller's face tightened.
"You understand, Investigator, this was just—"
"A joke?"
He stopped.
I looked toward the younger officers.
"That's what you were going to call it?"
Nobody answered.
I glanced at the plastic cup.
Then at the coffee dripping from my sleeve.
"Funny thing about jokes."
The room remained silent.
"They usually require somebody to be laughing who isn't the person being humiliated."
I turned toward the doorway.
The young Latina officer stood there, watching.
She met my eyes.
For a moment, her expression seemed conflicted.
Then she straightened.
"Investigator Vance?"
I nodded.
"Yes?"
"My body camera was recording when I came into the room."
The silence deepened.
Keller turned sharply.
The young officer swallowed.
"But I didn't activate it for this incident. It was already recording from a call I'd just cleared, and I hadn't completed the recording process yet."
I studied her.
"What's your name?"
"Officer Lena Ortiz."
"Did you witness what happened?"
"Yes, sir."
"All of it?"