Brenda said:
“This is his camera.”
Dana answered:
“No, ma'am.”
Silence.
The street seemed unusually quiet.
Dana continued.
“That device is federal surveillance equipment temporarily installed at this residence with the homeowner's consent.”
Brenda's fingers opened slightly around the broken housing.
Marcus said quickly:
“Please don't drop government property.”
Dana shot him a look.
Marcus raised his hands again.
Brenda stared at the camera.
“No one told the HOA.”
Dana nodded.
“Correct.”
“You cannot install federal surveillance equipment in an HOA neighborhood without notifying the association.”
Dana's expression did not change.
Marcus closed his eyes.
Even now.
Brenda continued.
“We have architectural rules.”
Dana said:
“Those rules are something your attorney can discuss later.”
“You were recording residents.”
Dana's tone cooled.
“I am not discussing an active investigation with you.”
“Then how was I supposed to know?”
Marcus spoke.
“You weren't.”
Brenda turned.
He continued.
“You were supposed to not climb a ladder onto somebody else's house and smash equipment with a hammer.”
Her face reddened.
Dana looked toward Marcus.
“Is there another camera?”
Marcus nodded toward the roofline.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
Brenda followed his gaze.
Her mouth opened.
Dana asked:
“Backup recorded?”
Marcus nodded.
“Should have.”
Another agent checked a tablet.
“It did.”
Brenda became still.
Dana looked at the broken camera.
“Ms. Whitmore, set that on the patio table.”
Brenda obeyed.
For the first time.
She placed the camera down carefully.
Dana asked:
“Did anyone tell you to destroy this device?”
“No.”
“Did anyone ask you to remove surveillance equipment from this property?”
“The HOA has received multiple complaints.”
Dana's attention sharpened.
“From whom?”
Brenda hesitated.
“Residents.”
“Names.”
“Anonymous.”
Marcus straightened.
Dana looked toward him.
Marcus understood instantly.
That mattered.
Not HOA mattered.
Anonymous complaints about cameras.
Dana asked:
“How many?”
Brenda crossed her arms.
“I don't know.”
“Approximately.”
“Several.”
“About this camera specifically?”
“Yes.”
Dana's gaze shifted to the agents behind her.
The mood changed.
Marcus felt it.
This was no longer only about damaged equipment.
Dana asked:
“When did those complaints begin?”
Brenda frowned.
“Maybe six weeks ago.”
Marcus felt his stomach tighten.
The camera had been installed seven weeks earlier.
Dana asked:
“What did the complaints say?”
“That homeowners were uncomfortable with surveillance.”
“Did anyone identify this address?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I told you. Anonymous.”
“Email?”
“Printed notes.”
“Phone calls?”
“Some.”
“Do you still have them?”
“Maybe.”
Dana's expression hardened.
“Preserve all of them.”
Brenda blinked.
“What?”
“Do not delete, destroy, discard, alter, or lose any complaint related to surveillance cameras, this residence, neighborhood security, or Mr. Reed.”
Brenda looked toward Marcus.
Marcus spread his hands.
Not me.
Dana continued.
“And do not discuss the substance of this conversation in neighborhood groups.”
Brenda's face flushed.
“You cannot silence me.”