That morning he had been adjusting an inconsistent idle.
His father would have found the problem in five minutes.
The investigator had been working for forty-three.
Then the officer arrived.
Now the sergeant stood beside the car holding its registration, and the entire neighborhood had become a crime scene that technically was not yet a crime scene.
The lieutenant arrived.
Then an internal professional-standards supervisor.
The first officer was separated from everyone.
His duty weapon temporarily secured by the lieutenant.
Not because anyone believed he would use it.
Because procedure existed for a reason.
The investigator appreciated that.
The officer did not.
“This is humiliating.”
The lieutenant answered:
“So is being shoved against your own car.”
The street went quiet.
The investigator looked toward him.
The lieutenant had just made the mistake supervisors often made when angry.
He had formed an opinion in public.
The investigator said:
“Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant looked at him.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Decide yet.”
The lieutenant stared.
The investigator nodded toward the officer.
“Take the evidence.”
“Interview witnesses.”
“Preserve radio.”
“Then decide.”
The officer looked surprised.
So did everyone else.
The investigator did not care.
Fairness was not a reward reserved for people who treated you fairly.
If it was, it wasn't fairness.
The lieutenant nodded slowly.
“Understood.”
Then turned toward the professional-standards supervisor.
“Separate interviews.”
The scene became systematic.
The neighbor across the street handed over a copy of her video while keeping the original.
Another neighbor had doorbell footage.
A teenager two houses down had filmed from an upstairs window.
The patrol SUV's dash camera was checked.
The officer's body camera was removed and bagged.
The investigator's dash camera memory card was copied.
His phone was photographed where it lay before anyone touched it.
The red toolbox was photographed.
So were the scattered tools.
A close photograph documented redness around the investigator's left wrist.
He declined medical care.
Then reconsidered.
“Actually.”
The paramedic looked toward him.
“Yes?”
“Document it.”
The officer, standing twenty feet away, heard.
His expression hardened.
The investigator did not care.
A complaint investigation lived or died on contemporaneous evidence.
If the wrist bruised later, people could argue timing.
Photograph now.
Document now.
He knew better than to rely on memory.
The professional-standards supervisor approached.
“We need your statement.”
“Not today.”
The supervisor frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I'm angry.”
That answer surprised him.
The investigator continued:
“I'll give you basic preservation facts.”
“Then I'll provide a full recorded statement after I review nothing.”
The supervisor nodded.
Correct.
Witnesses should not contaminate themselves by watching everybody else's video first.
The investigator looked toward the officer.
“Same for him.”
The supervisor said:
“He'll have representation.”
“Good.”
Again, the officer looked at him with something between suspicion and disbelief.