That was the first time he considered the possibility that the earlier complaints were not real either.
He looked toward the HOA president.
“Were there ever residents?”
She glared.
“Of course.”
“Names?”
“No.”
“Written complaints?”
She hesitated.
The officers noticed again.
The homeowner did too.
Something larger was beginning.
The first officer asked:
“Why did you come here today?”
The HOA president answered immediately:
“To confront him about the attack.”
“Before or after you made the report?”
“Before.”
“Why didn’t you call police from wherever the attack happened?”
“I was shaken.”
“Where did it happen?”
She pointed again.
“Here.”
The officer looked toward the camera.
“Video says otherwise.”
She folded her arms.
“Then your video is wrong.”
The homeowner almost laughed.
The officer did not.
“Cameras can have incorrect timestamps.”
she said quickly.
The homeowner answered:
“Mine sync automatically.”
“You could change it.”
The officer raised one hand.
“Enough.”
He looked toward the homeowner.
“Do you have footage from earlier showing you leaving for the vet?”
“Yes.”
The camera showed the homeowner loading the dog into his vehicle at 6:18 a.m.
Clear.
It also showed him leaving.
No return until 11:32.
The dog remained absent.
The HOA president’s claim was collapsing completely.
Then her phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Ignored it.
It rang again.
The homeowner heard her say:
“Not now.”
The caller persisted.
She walked several steps away.
The Black female officer said:
“Stay where we can see you.”
The woman turned angrily.
“I am not under arrest.”
“No.”
“Then stop ordering me around.”
The officer’s expression remained neutral.
“Fine.”
“Stand wherever you want on the public sidewalk.”
“But you are not entering the homeowner’s property.”
The HOA president looked toward the driveway line.
She was standing inside it.
She stepped backward.
The homeowner watched.
Small boundary.
Finally enforced.
Her phone rang a third time.
She answered.
“What?”
A pause.
Her face changed.
“What do you mean?”
Longer pause.
“No.”
She turned away.
“That’s impossible.”
The homeowner looked toward the officers.
They heard only one side.
The HOA president’s voice dropped.
“Delete it.”
All three men and women near her became still.
She realized what she had said.
The Black officer asked:
“Delete what?”
The HOA president ended the call.
“Nothing.”
The officer looked toward her.
“Who called?”
“My son.”
“Why did you tell him to delete something?”
The woman’s face became hard.
“Family matter.”
The homeowner felt something move in his stomach.
Her son was sixteen.
He had seen him around the neighborhood.
Tall.
Quiet.
Usually wearing headphones.
What could he have?
The HOA president looked toward her car.
“I’m leaving.”
The first officer stepped slightly aside.
“You’re free to leave.”