Now he looked less like an enforcer than a terrified man realizing the rest of his life had changed in less than thirty seconds.
“Who sent you?”
He covered his face.
“Brenda.”
I said nothing.
“She said you were noncompliant.”
“Did she tell you to bring a gun?”
“No.”
He hesitated.
Then corrected himself.
“She knew I carried.”
“What did she tell you?”
“Get the key.”
“How?”
He was crying hard now.
“She said scare you if I had to.”
There it was.
The phrase that would become central to everything afterward.
Scare you.
Sirens reached Hawthorne Lane.
Doors opened across the street.
Neighbors appeared behind windows.
Mrs. Bell stood on her porch with both hands over her mouth.
I heard police shouting before I saw them.
“HOMEOWNER! STEP AWAY!”
I moved immediately.
Hands open.
Visible.
“The gun is on the porch!”
“Keep moving toward us!”
I did.
An officer directed me behind a patrol car.
