Isaiah released the microphone.
Voss looked at him. “I’ve got nineteen years.”
“That will be relevant to your representation and due process.”
“You’re suspending me because I didn’t recognize you.”
“No.” Isaiah looked toward the papers scattered across the sidewalk.
“I’m removing you from public contact because you slapped a compliant motorist after conducting a search you have not justified.”
The distinction landed harder than shouting could have.
Lieutenant Felicia Moore arrived six minutes later. She was forty-seven, Black, a twenty-two-year department veteran who had been serving as acting operations commander during the leadership transition. She stepped from her cruiser, saw Isaiah’s face, then looked at Voss.
“Chief Warren.”
“Lieutenant Moore.”
Her eyes moved toward the dark body camera. “What happened?”
“Do not take my summary first.” Isaiah pointed toward the witnesses.
“Separate them. Preserve original recordings.”
Felicia nodded immediately. “Understood.”
Then Isaiah looked at Voss. “Lieutenant, secure Officer Voss’s firearm, radio, badge, department ID, cuffs, and vehicle keys pending standard administrative process.”
Voss stared at him. “You’re stripping me here?”
Isaiah shook his head. “You will surrender equipment out of public view beside your cruiser.”
The crowd remained silent. That mattered to him.
He did not want humiliation replacing accountability.
Felicia walked Voss toward Unit 14. His hands shook as he removed the radio and handed over the weapon.
Teresa approached Isaiah once the area was safe. “My nephew filed a complaint against him.”
“What is your nephew’s name?”
“Luis Moreno.”
Isaiah nodded. “Approximate date?”
“Last August.”
“Did investigators contact your witnesses?”
“No.”
Isaiah looked toward Felicia. She had heard.
“Find that file.”
Teresa’s eyes filled. “They told us it was closed.”
Isaiah answered, “Closed files can be reopened.”
Marjorie Finch stepped forward with a weathered notebook. Its cover was bent, and small pieces of paper stuck from the edges.
“What is that?” Isaiah asked.
“Names.” Marjorie handed it to him.
“Dates. Times. Things I saw from my store.”
Isaiah turned several pages. Voss’s name appeared repeatedly.
“I started writing because calling the department stopped feeling useful.”
Isaiah looked at her. “May I give this to investigators?”
“That’s why I brought it out.”
Cameron crossed the street only after police created a safe path. “My stream is still live.”
Isaiah nodded. “Do not delete the original recording from your device.”
“I won’t.”
“And do not send me the only copy directly.” Cameron looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because I am now the complainant.”
Isaiah wiped blood from his lip again. “The investigation cannot belong to me.”
That afternoon, Northgate was supposed to meet its new police chief beneath television lights in a headquarters briefing room. Instead, the city met him on every phone screen at once.