“Ms. Carlisle.”
Vanessa turned.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to advise you right now not to keep explaining without thinking.”
Her face changed.
“Am I under arrest?”
“At this moment I’m investigating a traffic collision and a possible attempt to obtain money through false representation.”
Vanessa stared.
“That’s insane.”
Price looked toward Avery.
“Did she physically touch you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She knocked my keys out of my hand and shoved my shoulder.”
Vanessa interrupted:
“I barely touched her.”
Officer Mendoza said:
“Let him finish.”
Vanessa glared.
Avery continued:
“She also kicked my front tire.”
Price asked Noah:
“Video?”
Noah nodded.
“Camera catches part.”
“And customers recorded.”
The teenage girl raised her phone slightly.
Mendoza walked over.
Price returned to Vanessa.
“Do you have identification?”
Vanessa’s voice shook now.
“Yes.”
As she opened her purse, Avery looked toward her SUV again.
Something bothered her.
The damage.
Not the new scrape.
The area beneath it.
She stepped closer, staying outside touching distance.
Price noticed.
“What?”
Avery pointed.
“That bumper already had damage.”
Vanessa froze.
Avery crouched carefully.
A darker scrape sat beneath the fresh one.
Older.
Partially polished.
Price looked.
“You know vehicles?”
“I know paint.”
Avery did.
Not professionally.
Her father had restored cars.
She had spent half her childhood handing him tools in a garage that smelled like solvent and old coffee.
Graphite paint from the Vesper had transferred lightly.
But the deeper mark on Vanessa’s SUV was a different color.
Blue.
Price leaned closer.
“Could be prior.”
Avery nodded.
“I’m not saying more than that.”
Good.
Price liked the answer.
No exaggeration.
Vanessa looked suddenly desperate.
“It’s an old scratch.”
“Fine,” Price said.
“Then it’s old.”
He took her identification.
Vanessa Carlisle.
Forty.
Address in Alpharetta.
He returned to cruiser.
Mendoza remained.
Avery looked at Noah.
“Thank you.”
He blinked.
“I just showed footage.”
“That was enough.”
He shrugged awkwardly.
“I almost didn’t.”
Avery frowned.
“Why?”
“Manager said to wait for police.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Noah looked toward Vanessa.
“Because she shoved you.”
Simple.
Avery nodded.
“Thank you anyway.”
The teenager with the phone approached.
She was perhaps seventeen.
“Can I send you the video?”
Avery sighed.
“Yes.”
“My mom says don’t post without asking.”
Avery looked toward the woman by minivan.
The mother waved apologetically.