There's a difference, and there are at least six people standing here who watched the difference happen. Ma'am, I need you to stand up and place your hands where I can see them. She didn't move immediately. She looked at him the way she looked at attorneys who tried to rush a bench conference, patient, unhurried, faintly disappointed. I haven't done anything, officer.
Neither has my dog. What I'd like is for you to radio your supervisor and request the original complaint be read back before this goes any further. What you'd like isn't really the priority right now. It should be. It's a reasonable request.
Britt's jaw worked. He was young enough to still enjoy being obeyed, old enough to have learned that most people folded before the third sentence. Ava hadn't folded on the first. Cuff her, he told Kowalski. Dale, for what?
She hasn't. Obstruction. Interfering with an officer's assessment of a dangerous animal. Write it up. Kowalski's hand hovered over his own cuffs, not moving.
His eyes flicking between his partner and the woman still sitting with the same composure she'd had since they walked up, hands loosely folded now in her lap, chin level, watching Britt the way she watched attorneys about to make an irreversible mistake. Last chance to call your supervisor, Ava said, so quietly that only the two of them heard it. After this, it won't be a choice anymore. It'll be a record. Britt laughed, short and humorless, and reached for the cuffs himself.
You threatening me? I don't make threats, officer. I make requests. This is the last one I'm going to make politely. She held out her wrists without being asked, the gesture almost courteous, and it seemed to unsettle him more than resistance would have.
The white animal control van was already turning into the park entrance, dispatched, it would later turn out, the moment the original complaint came in. Long before anyone had asked whether it was true. Two officers were lifting a transport crate from the back, lights not flashing, in no hurry at all, because no one had told them there was any reason to hurry. Behind them, Bishop strained low against nothing. No leash to catch on, just his own held still body, his eyes fixed on the crate.
Kowalski kept his voice down, just for her. Ma'am, is there someone you want us to call? Ava looked past him to the van, to the crate, to her dog. Not yet, she said. Just don't let them take him anywhere before I'm back.