Alicia shook her head. “No.”
“That’s fine.”
Holloway turned back to Delaney. “Walk me through it.”
He did. Or tried to. He said the sedan changed lanes without signaling. He said the driver became argumentative when questioned. He said he ordered her from the car for officer safety. He said she resisted exit and pulled away. He said he used necessary force to gain control.
The whole explanation sounded thinner with every sentence.
Because Holloway had eyes.
She looked at Alicia’s sedan again. The registration was in order on the seat. The driver’s license lay right beside it. A handbag sat zipped on the passenger side. There was no mess inside the car. No sign of frantic movement. No clue that the woman had done anything but comply until the officer chose violence.
“Body cam on?” Holloway asked.
“Yes.”
“From first contact?”
A slight pause. “Yes.”
“Dash cam?”
“Yes.”
Holloway gave one sharp nod. “Good.”
Then she stepped over to Alicia.
“What is your name?”
“Alicia Grant.”
“Ms. Grant, I need your version.”
Alicia took a breath and told it simply. She had been driving home. She had pulled over when she saw lights. She had placed her license and registration on the dashboard. The officer took them, threw her license back onto the seat, and ordered her out. She asked why. He told her people like her got one nice car and thought they could question a cop. When she asked again what she had done, he pulled her from the car, shoved her against the vehicle, grabbed her hair, and reached for his handcuffs.
Holloway listened without interrupting.
At the end, she asked only one question.
“Did you strike him, grab him, or threaten him?”
“No.”
“Did you refuse to show your documents?”
“No.”
“Did you attempt to drive away?”
“No.”
Holloway nodded once more. Then she looked at Ortiz. “Call EMS for an assessment.”
Alicia immediately said, “I don’t need an ambulance.”
“Maybe not,” Holloway replied. “But I want your injuries documented.”
That sentence changed something inside Alicia. Not because it erased what had happened. It didn’t. But because for the first time since the stop began, someone was behaving as if reality still existed.
Delaney did not like any of this.
“This is getting blown out of proportion,” he said.
Holloway turned slowly.
“You put your hand in her hair.”
“She was resisting.”
“I saw your hand in her hair.”
“She was noncompliant.”
Holloway’s voice stayed level. “Noncompliance is not a synonym for asking why.”
He looked away first.
By then, a few more people had drifted closer. Not too close. The safe distance of modern witnesses who knew how much trouble visibility could create. Someone had started recording from a porch across the street. Alicia noticed but did not care. Let them record.
Let all of it exist somewhere outside Delaney’s report.
Paramedics arrived within ten minutes. One checked the redness on her forearm and the tenderness along her scalp. She had a shallow scrape near her elbow from the car frame and likely bruising where Delaney had yanked her out. They offered transport. Alicia refused. She wanted home, not a stretcher. Holloway did not push, but she made sure the paramedic noted every visible injury.
Then she asked Alicia something quietly, a few steps away from the others.