Officer Pierce is correct. Sergeant Hutchkins exceeded the scope of the inspection and caused the damage. Boyd's eyes darted between the two men, his earlier confidence visibly draining out of him. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and said nothing at all. Voss's jaw tightened.
Officers Pierce and Doyle, you're dismissed from this scene. Lieutenant, we're providing accurate witness statements. Doyle said calm, unwilling to back down. You're interfering with the investigation. Voss snapped.
Returned to patrol duties now. Pierce didn't move right away. Something was working behind his eyes. Some private calculation Norah couldn't see the shape of, though she recognized the look. She'd worn it herself more than once in interview rooms where telling the truth meant burning a bridge she'd have to live without for the rest of her career.
He was thinking, she guessed, about the Marsh House three streets over, the one misses. Coulson had mentioned that morning without knowing anyone would remember it. Pierce had been on that call, too. 18 months back, fresh out of the academy, watching Hutchkins order him to switch off his body camera. Before they'd even reached the front door, he'd done it.
He hadn't asked why. He'd told himself it was standard procedure, the kind of thing rookies weren't supposed to question. He wasn't a rookie anymore, and he was done not asking why. Pierce hesitated, then looked directly at the two sisters standing in the doorway. Norah realized, watching him, that he was positioning himself exactly where the porch microphones would catch his voice clearly, the same way she and Vivien had done the night before without ever having to explain it to him.
For the record, Pierce said, loud enough for every device in that house to hear him. Sergeant Hutchkins has previously ordered officers to disable body cameras during at least three similar stops involving homeowners in this town. I witnessed those orders personally. The statement landed like something physical in that crowded entryway. Boyd's eyes went wide, panic flashing across his face.
Hutchkins went completely still, the color draining out of him just as fast as it had risen a moment earlier. Officer Pierce, Voss said, his voice rising now, all pretense of calm finally cracking. You're terminated from this scene. But the words were already out, already recorded on Pierce's own body camera, on the porch system Voss believed lay in pieces on the floor and quietly, invisibly on servers neither Voss nor Hutchkins would ever think to check until it was far too late to matter. Pierce turned and walked out through the front door without another word.
Doyle following close behind him. Their footsteps carried across the quiet street outside where a few neighbors had already begun gathering on their own porches, drawn by the sound of raised voices carrying through open windows, Mrs. Coulson stood at the edge of her yard, watering can forgotten on the grass beside her, watching the two officers walk away from the house with an expression that looked almost like pride. Two doors further down, a man Norah didn't recognize stood on his own steps, phone raised, filming the scene from a distance. The way people did now. Instinctively, whenever something felt like it mattered, Boyd finally found his voice, though it came out thin and uncertain.