Then he understood.
The woman didn't.
"What?"
Officer Lee walked closer to the cruiser.
He spoke into his radio.
"Can we get the live feed from the residential camera if it's available?"
The woman stepped forward.
"What camera?"
Officer Lee didn't answer.
The homeowner said nothing.
The woman suddenly looked nervous.
Officer Hayes noticed.
"Ma'am, stay where you are."
"I am."
"Don't move."
"I'm not moving."
Officer Lee returned holding a department phone.
He looked at Hayes.
Then at the homeowner.
Then at the woman.
"Before we touch him," he said, "you're going to watch these eighteen seconds."
The woman stared at him.
"What eighteen seconds?"
Officer Lee held up the phone.
"Because the camera caught you slapping yourself after he stepped back."
Silence.
The street went still.
The woman blinked.
"What?"
Officer Hayes looked at her.
"Watch."
The phone screen showed the driveway.
The angle was wide.
The homeowner stood near the front steps.
The woman entered the frame from the sidewalk.
She walked toward him.
She pointed.
He raised both hands.
She continued approaching.
He stepped backward.
She stepped closer.
Then she stopped.
She looked toward the street.
She noticed the police cruiser approaching.
And then, exactly as Officer Lee had said, she slapped herself.
Hard.
Her palm struck her own cheek.
She stumbled backward.
Then screamed.
The recording continued.
The homeowner did not touch her.
Not once.
The woman watched the eighteen seconds without blinking.
When the video ended, Officer Lee lowered the phone.
The woman's face had gone pale.
The homeowner exhaled slowly.
Officer Hayes looked at her.
"Ma'am."
She said nothing.
"Do you want to explain that?"
"I—"
"You told us he hit you."
"He did."
"We just watched the video."
"That camera could be edited."
Officer Lee looked at her.
"Do you know how many seconds of footage we have?"
She swallowed.
"How many?"
"Twenty-seven minutes."
Her eyes widened.
Officer Hayes stepped closer.
"And we have audio."
The homeowner looked toward the house.
The woman suddenly stopped pointing.
For the first time since the officers arrived, she looked afraid.
But this time, the fear appeared genuine.
Her name was Patricia Whitmore.
For seven years, she had been the president of the Briarwood Estates Homeowners Association.
She had been elected because she was organized.
Then she became president because nobody else wanted the position.
Then, over time, something changed.
She stopped treating the HOA like an administrative organization.
She started treating it like an authority.
A private government.
A neighborhood court.
A regulatory agency.