PART 2
One woman.
A quiet suburban street.
And suddenly, the atmosphere changed.
Taylor held up the rental papers.
“This says Enterprise.”
“Yes.”
“You expect me to believe you rented this car?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed a vehicle.”
Taylor laughed.
“You got an answer for everything.”
Camille remained still.
“I’ve provided my license, the rental agreement, and identification. If there’s something else you need, please tell me.”
Taylor looked at Moore.
Moore shrugged.
Then Taylor looked back at Camille.
“You don’t belong in this neighborhood.”
Camille’s expression changed slightly.
Not fear.
Recognition.
She had heard those words in different forms throughout her career.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said quietly.
Taylor stepped closer.
“Get out, you filthy dog. You’re stinking up this whole neighborhood.”
Camille stared at him.
“Look at you, riding around white folks’ streets in a stolen car like you belong here.”
She remained composed.
“I’m cooperating, Sergeant.”
“Shut up.”
Taylor’s voice echoed down Maplewood Drive.
“Whose car did you steal? Confess.”
Camille glanced toward the other officers.
“Cuff her. Put her where she belongs.”
Moore moved first.
Camille immediately raised her hands.
“Officer, I am not resisting.”
“Turn around.”
She turned.
“Place your hands behind your back.”
She complied.
The handcuffs snapped shut.
Too tight.
Camille winced.
“Those are too tight.”
Taylor ignored her.
“Walk.”
“I can walk.”
She took several steps.
Then stopped.
“Sergeant, I want you to understand something.”
Taylor turned.
“You’re making a mistake you can never take back.”
His face flushed.
He grabbed her collar.
“What did you say?”
Camille remained calm.
“Nothing that changes the facts.”
Taylor jerked her backward.
Then slapped her.
The sound echoed between the houses.
Moore froze.
Anderson looked away.
Wilson stared at Taylor.
“Shut up.”
Taylor’s voice was almost a whisper now.
But the situation had changed.
Because a porch light across the street had turned on.
Then another.
Someone had seen what happened.
Someone else had taken out a phone.
A camera was recording.
And the four officers did not know that their entire encounter was now being preserved.
—
Camille was forced onto the pavement.
Her belongings scattered.
Her purse opened.
Her identification cards fell into the gutter.
Her appointment folder landed several feet away.
The signed document slid across the wet pavement.
Taylor never looked at it.
He ordered the other officers to search her.
Moore hesitated.
“Do it.”
Moore complied.
Then his hand stopped.
He had found an official credential.
He looked at it.
His face changed.
“Sergeant.”
Taylor turned.
“What?”
“This is federal.”
Taylor snatched it.
He looked at the credential.
Then at Camille.
“Fake.”
Moore stared at him.
“Sir, I don’t think—”
“Put her in the cruiser.”
Camille said nothing.
That silence was not surrender.
It was restraint.
—
At the station, Camille was processed under Taylor’s instructions.
The paperwork listed suspected vehicle theft and obstruction.
The desk officer looked confused.
“What’s the vehicle?”
“Rental.”
“Rental?”
Taylor nodded.
“Stolen.”
The clerk checked the plate.
“It’s showing active.”
Taylor frowned.
“Check again.”
The clerk did.
“Still active.”
Taylor leaned over the desk.
“Just process her.”
Camille was taken into a holding room.
Her wrists were still cuffed.
Her cheek was beginning to swell.
Her appointment letter remained folded among her belongings.
No one had read it.
No one had bothered.
Then the station doors opened.
Deputy Chief Raymond Ellis walked inside.
He had been waiting for Camille to arrive the following morning.
Instead, he had just received a call from the mayor.
“Where is she?”
The desk officer looked confused.
“Who?”
“Camille Brooks.”
Silence.
Taylor stepped out from the hallway.
“She’s being processed.”
Ellis stared at him.
“Processed for what?”
“Vehicle theft.”
Ellis’s expression changed.
“Which vehicle?”
“The rental.”
Ellis took a breath.
“Sergeant, do you know who she is?”
Taylor crossed his arms.
“Some woman who was driving a suspicious car.”
Ellis looked at him for several seconds.
Then he slowly reached into his jacket.
He removed his phone.
“Call the mayor.”
Taylor frowned.
“Why?”
Ellis looked toward the holding area.
“Because you just arrested the woman who is supposed to be your next chief.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
Taylor’s face went blank.
Moore stopped walking.
Anderson looked at Wilson.
Wilson whispered something under his breath.
Ellis continued.
“Camille Brooks was appointed chief six weeks ago.”
Taylor shook his head.
“No.”
Ellis held up his phone.
“I can show you the appointment.”
Taylor stared.
“No.”
“You arrested the incoming chief of police.”
Taylor’s face drained of color.
—
Camille was brought out of the holding room.
Her wrists were finally uncuffed.
