Inside headquarters, the atmosphere had already changed.
Someone had recognized Marcus.
Someone else had repeated what happened outside.
By the time he entered the lobby, conversations were dying around him.
The receptionist stood.
A patrol supervisor appeared from the corridor.
Several officers straightened instinctively.
Marcus hated the contrast.
Ten minutes earlier, he had been a Black man in an inexpensive-looking jacket whom Briggs believed he could humiliate.
Now people were offering him chairs, towels, water, and anxious expressions of concern.
Only his rank had changed in their eyes.
The man beneath the soaked clothing remained exactly the same.
Simone approached carrying a clean towel.
“Medical staff are on their way, sir.”
“Thank you.”
She hesitated.
Marcus noticed.
“Something else, Officer Hart?”
Simone lowered her voice.
“Briggs has had complaints before.”
Marcus stopped wiping his jacket.
“How many?”
“I don’t know the exact number.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because I tried reporting one.”
Her words hung between them.
Marcus studied the young officer.
She appeared to be in her late twenties, with tired eyes and the guarded manner of someone accustomed to choosing every word carefully.
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“What happened?”
“I was told the matter had already been resolved.”
“By whom?”
Simone looked toward the elevators.
“Deputy Chief Voss.”
Marcus felt something tighten in his chest.
Graham Voss.
The name carried more weight than Simone could possibly understand.
Twenty-seven years earlier, Voss had been the senior detective who encouraged Marcus to join the department’s investigative division.
He had recommended Marcus for promotion.
He had stood beside him at his father’s funeral.
For years, Marcus had considered him a mentor.