Officer Megan Doyle had no idea that she hadn't just arrested a pedestrian. She had just arrested the very reckoning Hawthorne Ridge had been trying to avoid.
The Hawthorne Ridge precinct was as aggressively pristine as the neighborhood it served. The floors were polished to a mirror shine, the lighting was bright and clinical, and the officers moved with a relaxed, untouchable arrogance.
Doyle paraded Camille through the double doors, a hand firmly gripping her upper arm.
"Processing," Doyle called out to the desk sergeant, a heavyset man named Miller who was slowly chewing on a pen. "Obstruction and failure to identify."
Miller sighed, pulling a stack of intake forms toward him. "Name?" he asked, looking at Camille with bored indifference.
Camille stood tall, her shoulders squared despite the cuffs digging into her wrists.
"Before we proceed with booking," Camille said, her voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room, "I strongly suggest you open my leather shoulder bag and look at the interior zip pocket."
Doyle scoffed, dumping Camille’s bag onto the metal counter. "We'll search your property when we process your inventory. Name."
"My name," Camille said, "is Dr. Camille Bennett."
Miller’s pen stopped moving. He frowned. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't immediately place it in the context of petty street crimes.
"Open the bag, Officer Doyle," Camille commanded. It wasn't a request. The tone carried the unmistakable weight of executive authority.
Doyle hesitated, looking at Miller. Miller gave a slight shrug.
Doyle unzipped the leather bag. She pulled out a wallet, a pair of reading glasses, and a notebook. Then, she opened the interior zipper.
She reached in and pulled out a heavy, tri-fold leather credential case.