His expression was no longer simply calm.
It was cold.
“Your camera is still running?”
Travis glanced down.
The indicator was still active.
“Don't worry about my camera.”
Marcus nodded.
“I won't.”
Travis reached toward him again.
Marcus quietly said:
“Keep your badge on.”
Travis frowned.
“What?”
“You'll need it in twenty minutes.”
For the first time, Travis looked uncertain.
Then he laughed.
“You threatening me?”
“No.”
“Then what was that?”
Marcus looked toward the Mercedes.
“A suggestion.”
Travis stared at him.
“Who are you?”
Marcus looked at the officer's nameplate.
Then back at his face.
“You already have my identification.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Marcus adjusted his glasses.
“Marcus Reed.”
“For now,” Travis muttered.
Marcus said nothing.
Twenty feet away, Alyssa continued recording.
She had no idea yet that the video on her phone would become one of the most important pieces of evidence in Brookhaven's police department.
She also had no idea that the man standing calmly beside the Mercedes was not simply a businessman heading to a meeting.
And Travis Harlan had no idea that he had just struck the one person in Brookhaven he absolutely should have treated exactly like everyone else.
Nine minutes after the slap, Travis sat inside his cruiser.
His hands were steady.
His thoughts were not.
Marcus remained beside the Mercedes.
He hadn't shouted.
He hadn't threatened Travis.
He hadn't tried to leave.
That should have made things easier.
Instead, it made Travis nervous.
He picked up the radio.
“Unit Twenty-Two requesting a supervisor.”
Sergeant Leon Pike responded.
“What have you got?”
“Uncooperative driver.”
“Traffic violation?”
“Signal violation.”
“Any arrest?”
“Not yet.”
“I'll be there in a few minutes.”
Travis ended the transmission.
Then he opened his report software.
His fingers hovered above the keyboard.
He needed to describe what had happened.
But the truth was difficult to write.
He couldn't type:
I became angry because the driver questioned me and I slapped him.
That would not sound good.
So he began searching for better words.
Driver became verbally confrontational.
He stopped.
Driver repeatedly challenged lawful instructions.
He continued.
Travis had learned over the years that language could change the appearance of an event.
A shove could become “physical redirection.”
A threat could become “verbal warning.”
A strike could become “control technique.”
He had seen reports written that way before.
He had written some himself.
He looked up.
Marcus was talking to Alyssa.
Travis immediately stepped out of the cruiser.
“You don't talk to him.”
Alyssa looked at him.
“I'm standing on a public sidewalk.”
“This is an active police investigation.”
“I saw you hit him.”
Travis's face tightened.
“You saw part of an enforcement action.”
“I saw all of it.”
Marcus gently raised one hand.
“It's okay.”
Alyssa shook her head.
“No, it isn't.”
Marcus looked at her.
“Did you record it?”
“Yes.”
Travis stepped closer.
“Do not interfere with evidence.”
Alyssa pulled the phone toward her.
“You're not taking my phone.”
Marcus looked at Travis.
“You should stop now.”
There was something strange about his voice.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Certainty.
Travis hated that certainty.
At that moment, a phone inside Marcus's Mercedes began ringing.
Marcus glanced toward the vehicle.
“May I get my phone?”
“No.”
“It has been ringing for nearly a minute.”
“I said no.”
Marcus nodded.
The ringing stopped.
Then began again.
Travis watched him carefully.
Marcus did not move.
Finally, the phone stopped.
Thirty seconds later, the police radio crackled.
“Unit Twenty-Two.”
Travis grabbed the microphone.
“Twenty-Two.”
“Confirm location.”
“Jefferson and Lexington.”
There was a pause.
“Remain on scene.”
“I requested a supervisor.”
“Confirmed.”
“Why?”
Another pause.
“Command notification.”
Travis frowned.
“What command notification?”
“Sergeant Pike and Chief Danner are responding.”
Travis froze.
Chief Danner?
The chief did not personally respond to ordinary traffic stops.
Ever.
Travis looked toward Marcus.
Marcus calmly adjusted his tie.
“What did you do?” Travis asked.
Marcus raised an eyebrow.
“I've been standing here.”
“You called someone.”
“You wouldn't let me retrieve my phone.”
“Then who called?”
Marcus looked around.
“Perhaps someone who watched you.”
Travis looked at Alyssa.
She lifted her phone slightly.
The delivery driver did the same.
For the first time, Travis noticed just how many people had witnessed the encounter.
Windows.
Phones.
Security cameras.
Traffic cameras.
His own body camera.
Suddenly the street seemed much smaller.
Fourteen minutes after the slap, Chief Harold Danner received a call while leaving City Hall.
The caller was Dana Whitmore, executive director of the State Office of Law Enforcement Standards.
“Chief, where is Marcus Reed?”
Danner stopped walking.
“What?”
“He was supposed to meet us at five.”
“I know.”
“He hasn't answered two calls.”
“Maybe he's driving.”
Dana's voice became serious.
“He isn't.”
Danner frowned.
“What happened?”
“One of our analysts just received a video.”
“What video?”
“Your Officer Travis Harlan.”
Silence.
“He struck Marcus Reed during a traffic stop.”
Danner's face went pale.
“Marcus Reed?”
“Yes.”
“The Marcus Reed?”
“There is only one chief investigator scheduled to walk into your department this afternoon.”
Danner immediately turned toward his driver.
“Jefferson Avenue.”
The driver started the vehicle.
“Now.”
Marcus Reed had spent twenty-seven years examining systems.
He had worked as a prosecutor.
Later, he became a compliance attorney.
Eventually, he joined the state's law-enforcement standards office, where his job was to investigate patterns of misconduct and evaluate whether police departments were following established procedures.