From the first vehicle stepped Chief of Police Robert Harrison, a stern man with graying hair who had been trying to clean up the department for years, but had been blocked by the powerful police union. From the second vehicle stepped Sarah Jenkins, the district attorney. She was known as the Iron Lady of the county, a prosecutor who had no patience for dirty cops.
They walked straight to David. Chief Harrison extended his hand. "Captain Reynolds, I apologize. I deeply apologize that your homecoming was greeted with this disgrace."
David shook the hand firmly but briefly. "Apologies don't fix my father's shoulder, Chief. Or the trauma my mother just went through."
"I know," Harrison said, turning to look at Miller, who was now sitting in the back of the very cruiser he had shoved Otis into. "And we are going to handle it."
DA Jenkins stepped forward, her heels clicking on the pavement. She looked at Kinsley, who was holding the notebook in an evidence bag he had retrieved from the trunk. "Is that the item in question?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Kinsley said.
"Let me see it." She took the bag. She didn't look at the cash; she flipped to the middle pages where Miller had made his notes. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the scribbles. "Harrison, come look at this," she said, her voice low.
The chief leaned in.
"'July 4th, liquor store, 200. July 8th, Motel 6, 150. July 10th, church van, 600 dollars,'" Jenkins read aloud. "He was keeping a ledger. He was documenting his own extortion racket."
Harrison's face turned a shade of purple. "That idiot. That arrogant idiot."
"He thought he was untouchable," David said. "He thought no one would ever dare search him."
Jenkins looked up at David. "Captain, this notebook is gold. It's not just petty theft. This is a pattern of racketeering. With this, I can bypass the union protections. I can go for immediate termination and felony charges."
"Good," David said. "But I want more than that. I want the body cam footage from both officers pulled immediately before it can be accidentally deleted. And I want the dash cam footage."
"Way ahead of you," Harrison said. "I've already ordered the sergeant to pull the hard drives from Unit 4 Alpha. It's being done now."
Meanwhile, paramedics had arrived to check on Otis and Martha. Otis sat on the bumper of the ambulance, his shirt removed so they could ice his shoulder. A large bruise was already forming, ugly and purple against his skin.
David walked over, his anger momentarily replaced by concern. "Pop, how is it?"
"It hurts, son," Otis admitted, wincing as the medic adjusted the ice pack. "But I think it's just a bad sprain. No broken bones."
"I'm sorry I wasn't here 5 minutes earlier," David said, his voice thick with guilt. "If I hadn't stopped for gas..."
"Don't you do that," Martha scolded him gently, though her hands were still shaking. "You were here right when God intended you to be. If you hadn't come, they would have taken us to the station. Who knows what would have happened in the cells."
The reality of that statement hung heavy in the air. In the back of a police van, without witnesses, things could have gone much differently.
As the medics finished, Chief Harrison approached the family. He took off his hat, a gesture of respect. "Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds," Harrison said, "I am placing Officer Miller under arrest for theft, assault, and false imprisonment. I am also suspending Officer Kinsley pending an internal investigation into his failure to intervene earlier."
"Kinsley tried," Martha said softly. "He was scared."
"Fear is no excuse for a badge, Mrs. Reynolds," Harrison said firmly. "But your statement will be noted."
Harrison turned to David. "Captain, I need you to come to the station to give a formal statement. But maybe take your parents home first. Get them settled. We can wait an hour."
"No." Otis stood up, wincing, but standing tall. "We go now. I want to see him booked. I want to see his mugshot taken."
David looked at his father, seeing the steel in the old man's spine. "You sure, Pop?"
"I'm sure," Otis said. He looked at his beautiful new truck. "And I'm driving my truck there."
The Pine Bluff Police Station was buzzing with a frantic energy. Word had spread like wildfire: the golden boy of the department, Buck Miller, had been brought in in handcuffs by the chief himself.
Miller sat in Interrogation Room B. He was no longer wearing his belt or his badge. He sat in his undershirt, looking smaller, paler. The swagger was gone, replaced by a sullen, trapped glare.
On the other side of the glass, David stood with DA Jenkins and Chief Harrison. They were watching the video feed.
"He's not talking," Harrison said. "He asked for his union rep. The rep is on the way."
"The rep can't help him with what we found in his locker," Jenkins said, holding up a file.
While Miller sat stewing, Harrison had ordered a search of Miller's locker and his personal vehicle. They found more than just a notebook: they found drug paraphernalia that had been seized from suspects but never logged into evidence; they found three unregistered handguns.
"He wasn't just skimming cash," Jenkins said. "He was reselling seized weapons. Captain Reynolds, your father's traffic stop just cracked open a ring we've been trying to find for 2 years."
The door to the viewing room opened. A slick-looking man in a cheap suit walked in. It was Gerald Vance—no relation to the forbidden name, just a common surname here—the union representative. He looked sweaty.
"Look, Chief," Gerald started. "You can't keep him in there. This is a misunderstanding. The notebook is circumstantial. The cash? Maybe he borrowed it."
"Borrowed it?" David turned, his presence filling the small room. "He borrowed an envelope of church donations from a 70-year-old man he assaulted?"
Gerald paused, looking at David's uniform. "And who are you?"