She kept her voice low. Who did you just bring in? Trespasser from Cartwright Lane. Parish called it in. Open and shut.
Did you run the property? Didn't need to. Woman couldn't produce ID, refused to. Did you run the property address? It wasn't a question the second time.
Dutton looked at her. Something in her face made him pause. Rhodes, I followed protocol. Go run the property, she said. Right now.
Before you submit that report. He looked at her for another moment. Then he turned back to his computer with the slow, deliberateness of someone who had decided not to be told what to do by someone who was not his supervisor, and he clicked submit on his report. Rhodes walked away. Dutton watched her go.
At the holding area, Lieutenant Doug Farrell had been assigned to conduct the standard intake interview, a formality mostly for unresolved trespassing holds. He collected the file from the desk, tucked it under his arm, and walked down to room three with the slightly distracted air of a man who had three other things on his mind. He opened the door, sat down across from her, set the file on the table without looking up. Okay, so for the record, can you confirm your full name and He opened the file. He read the standard intake form.
Name, address, reason for hold. His eyes moved down the page with the automatic efficiency of someone who had read 10,000 of these. Then he reached the line where Navarro had written her full name, first, middle, last, and something in his reading slowed. His eyes went back to the top of the line, read it again. He looked up.
Serena was watching him with the calm patience of someone who had been waiting for exactly this moment. The fluorescent light above them flickered. Once. Twice. Ma'am.
Farrell said, his voice coming out quieter than he'd intended. Are you Are you Commander Cole? Serena held his gaze. That's Chief Cole, she said. Effective Monday?
The room went very still. The name landed in that small room like a stone dropped into still water. Farrell didn't move for a long moment. His hands were flat on the table, the file open between them, and he sat very still in the way of a man whose brain is processing something faster than the rest of him can catch up. Then he stood.