He was entirely isolated. He turned away, pacing the asphalt like a caged animal, muttering to himself, trying to formulate a lie that could possibly explain away the catastrophe he had engineered. The wait was agonizing. For 15 minutes, the only sounds on Ocean View Drive were the distant crashing of the waves and the low hum of the police cruisers' engines. Devon calmly walked over to his scattered belongings.
He didn't pick them up. He simply retrieved his smartphone from the pavement where it had fallen from his gym bag. He unlocked the screen and hit record, slowly panning the camera across the chaotic scene, the torn-up interior of the McLaren, his bruised wrists, and the two police officers standing tensely by their vehicles. "What are you doing?" Ford snapped, though he didn't move to intervene.
"Preserving the crime scene." Devon stated matter-of-factly. Then the silence was broken by the wail of multiple sirens approaching at high speed. It wasn't the standard single-pitch siren of a patrol car. It was the heavy aggressive rumble of official motorcades.
Three sleek black unmarked SUVs crested the hill, flanked by two Oakwood Hills command vehicles. They tore down the street, their hidden strobe lights cutting through the afternoon glare, and slammed on their brakes, creating a tight impenetrable barricade around the scene. The doors flew open simultaneously. The first man to step out was Chief Miller of the Oakwood Hills Police Department. He was a broad-shouldered man with a severe buzz cut, his face flushed with a mixture of anger and absolute panic.
Behind him stepped three men in sharp suits, Internal Affairs detectives. And from the center SUV emerged Lawrence Whitfield. The District Attorney was an imposing figure, tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his presence commanded the space instantly. He didn't look angry. He looked lethal.
He bypassed the chief of police and walked directly toward his son. "Devon," Lawrence said, placing his hands on his son's shoulders, his eyes scanning the young man's face, then dropping to the visible red indentations on his wrists. A dangerous shadow crossed the DA's eyes. "Are you all right?" "I am fine, Dad.
Truly." Devon reassured him softly. Lawrence nodded once, pulling his son into a brief protective embrace. Then he turned slowly. He didn't look at Officer Ford.
He looked directly at Chief Miller. "Chief Miller," Lawrence said, his voice echoing off the nearby houses. "I want to understand why my son was handcuffed like an animal on the side of a public road, and why my vehicle has been dismantled by your officers." Chief Miller swallowed hard, stepping forward. "Mr. District Attorney, we are investigating the circumstances immediately.
Officer Ford, step forward and explain your actions." Ford stepped forward, his legs practically shaking. "Chief, it was a routine traffic stop. He rolled a stop sign. When I approached, I detected a strong odor of marijuana.