The iron railing struck Daniel Brooks beneath the shoulder blade, and for one terrible second he could not breathe. His first thought was not about the officer whose hand was still bunched in his jacket; it was about the small head tucked beneath his chin.
Six-month-old Lily gave a startled cry. Daniel tightened his supporting arm beneath her, taking the impact on his own back as the stroller rolled against his ankle.
“I told you this entrance was restricted,” the officer said.
Daniel could see the public walkway beyond the man's shoulder. There was no gate across it, no closure sign, only a movable barricade angled toward a reception tent where donors were drinking coffee beside the river.
“You never told me to stop,” Daniel managed. “My daughter is in my arms.”
The officer's nameplate read C. MERCER. His eyes moved from Daniel's face to the people turning toward them, and then to the small camera clipped to his uniform.
He lifted his free hand.
Another hand closed around his wrist before he reached the button. The newcomer was a tall Black man in a charcoal suit, and the badge at his belt caught the light.
“Leave the camera alone,” he said.
Officer Colin Mercer went still. “Captain Grant. I was checking whether it was working.”
“Then let it work.”
Captain Nathan Grant, who commanded Riverton's Internal Affairs unit, released Mercer's wrist only after the officer lowered his hand. A woman in a dark dress uniform was already crossing the space between the tent and the railing.
Daniel knew her stride before he saw her face. Commissioner Evelyn Brooks had walked that way since childhood whenever someone needed help and she was trying not to run.
“Step away from him,” she told Mercer.
The officer obeyed. Daniel adjusted Lily against his uninjured side, hating the involuntary tremor in his hands.
“Daniel,” Evelyn said, suddenly quieter. “Can you breathe?”
He nodded, although the next breath hurt. “Look at Lily first.”
Mercer's expression changed at the name. His gaze darted between their faces, catching the resemblance too late.
“Commissioner, I didn't realize—”
“He needed no introduction to be treated properly.” Evelyn looked toward Grant. “Medical assistance. Preserve the recordings and identify witnesses.”
A woman in a cream coat approached with her phone held against her chest. “I have the beginning,” she said. “Before anyone important came over.”
Daniel looked at her. “Thank you.”
“Judith Hale,” she told Grant. “And I am staying.”
Mercer tried again. There had been a theft alert, he said, and Daniel matched the description. Grant asked for an incident number; Mercer could not provide one.
The commissioner did not argue. She instructed a nearby supervisor to verify the alert through dispatch, then asked Daniel whether he wanted someone to hold his daughter while the paramedics examined him.
He shook his head before he could stop himself. Evelyn accepted the answer without taking it personally.
Three years earlier, another officer had accused Daniel of forcing entry into his own appliance repair shop. That complaint had ended with a form letter saying there was insufficient evidence, and Daniel had learned how quickly a frightened person's account could become a difficult person's account.
“Don't let them decide I was resisting before they look,” he said.
Evelyn's face tightened. “I can protect the evidence. I won't promise an outcome before it's examined.”
Grant's radio answered before she could say more. Dispatch could find no active theft alert corresponding to Mercer's description, and the vehicle location log placed his cruiser at the park twenty-three minutes before the event detail began.
Mercer looked away. His attention settled on the black diaper bag hanging from the stroller handle.
“What is in the outside compartment?” he asked.
Daniel felt a new uneasiness beneath the pain. Mercer had not searched the bag, and Daniel had never opened that compartment in front of him.
“Diapers,” he said. “A bottle. Things for my daughter.”
“The narrow pocket behind it.”
Grant stepped between the officer and the stroller. “You are finished questioning him.”
Lily began to cry again, an exhausted, wavering sound. Daniel pressed his cheek against her hair while the first paramedic came through the crowd.
A volunteer offered Daniel a clean towel for the water Lily had spilled down his sleeve. He accepted it automatically, surprised by the ordinary object in his hands. Around them, the park continued making its morning sounds, indifferent to the fact that his own morning had stopped.