“Did she hit you?”
“She made physical contact.”
Naomi looked at Cole.
“No.”
He held up one hand gently.
“I'll get your statement.”
Naomi nodded.
Good.
Marjorie continued.
“I had to defend myself.”
“How?”
“I pushed her away.”
Naomi closed her eyes briefly.
Marjorie left out the first strike.
Cole asked:
“Anyone injured?”
Marjorie touched her own forearm.
“I’m shaken.”
Cole looked for injury.
Nothing obvious.
Then Naomi.
“You hurt?”
“My upper arm and hip are sore.”
“Need medical?”
“No.”
“Any bleeding?”
“No.”
“All right.”
He turned to Marjorie.
“Did you enter the property?”
“Yes.”
“With permission?”
“I have HOA authority.”
“That wasn't my question.”
Marjorie frowned.
“I was performing association business.”
Cole waited.
“Did she invite you through the gate?”
“No, but—”
“Did she tell you not to enter?”
Marjorie’s face tightened.
“She was refusing a compliance discussion.”
Cole wrote.
Naomi watched.
No reaction.
Just notes.
Marjorie became impatient.
“You need to understand that she violated an active community rule.”
Cole looked at her.
“I'm dealing with the physical altercation first.”
“They are connected.”
“Maybe.”
He nodded toward the porch.
“Please stand over there.”
Marjorie seemed offended by being repositioned.
Still, she complied.
Cole approached Naomi.
“Your turn.”
Naomi stood slowly.
“Want to stay sitting?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
She described it.
Leaf blower.
Gate pounding.
She refused entry.
Marjorie reached over the latch.
Entered.
Presented notice.
Attempted to unplug equipment.
Naomi blocked access with her body.
Moved the paper aside.
Marjorie hit her arm.
Then shoved her.
Then called 911.
Cole wrote.
“You hit her at any point?”
“No.”
“Grab her?”
“No.”
“Touch clothing?”
“No.”
“Threaten?”
“No.”
“She says you made physical contact.”
“I moved the notice when she pushed it against my chest.”
“With your hand?”
“Yes.”
“Touch her hand?”
“Maybe when I moved the paper. I don't know.”
That answer mattered.
Naomi could have said absolutely not.
She did not know.
So she said she did not know.
Cole noticed.
“Any witnesses?”
Naomi looked toward her neighbor.
The man washing his car had moved closer to the sidewalk.
“He probably saw the second part.”
“First strike?”
“I don't know.”
“Cameras?”
Naomi lifted her phone.
“Yes.”
Marjorie heard.
Her head turned.
“What?”
Naomi looked at her.
Marjorie stared upward.
Doorbell camera.
Small.
Black.
Visible.