“Calm down, you bloody idiot.”
“Don’t tell me to calm the fuck down.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Fuck you! This is police brutality! I know what you’re all doing, and it’s bullshit. That bitch should be arrested. She ruined my bloody truck.”
I pressed my knee harder into his spine. “I said, lower your damn voice.” I kept my tone flat and even.
“Get the fuck off me!” he roared.
I hadn’t expected him to lower his voice. I’d dealt with Bruce and his brothers more times than I cared to count for drunk and disorderly and unprovoked fist-fights, the kind of low-grade stupidity that never quite made it to formal charges because nobody ever wanted to be the one to press them. The Henderson brothers were loud, obnoxious, and liked to throw their weight around whenever they thought they could get away with it.
Lyle was the runt of the family. Too weak to compete against his brothers. Too dumb to know when to stop. Still, the fool looked at me all doe-eyed every time he saw me. He’d even asked me out once. It had taken everything I had not to shudder in front of him.
If it were up to me, the Henderson brothers would be answering for attempted murder. Not crying about a wrecked Hilux. Cassidy was lucky to be alive.
“Are you going to calm down,” I said, “or do I leave you on the floor a bit longer?”
“Screw you, you stupid cop.”
I glanced up at Nate and rolled my eyes. “What do you reckon, Senior Constable Stephens? Does he look calm to you?”
Nate’s mouth twitched. “Nope.”
“Why aren’t you bloody listenin’?” Bruce’s voice bounced off every wall in the station. A glob of spittle hit the linoleum in front of him. “That Branson bitch destroyed my truck, and not one of you bastards has done a bloody thing about it.”
I stifled a groan.
Ten minutes ago, I’d been packing up to go home after the most unremarkable day imaginable. Mrs. Walker’s near-weekly noise complaint. A missing dog that turned up asleep under the RSL front steps. A shoplifting report from the servo that would almost certainly go nowhere. Small-town policing. Not exactly what I’d pictured when I’d walked out of the academy with stars in my eyes.
Some days, I genuinely wished for something exciting to happen.
Bruce Henderson was definitely not what I’d had in mind.
I crouched down in front of him, staying just far enough back so that he couldn’t spit on me. “Look, Bruce. I understand you’re frustrated?—”
“Frustrated?” His face went a deeper shade of purple. “She destroyed my bloody ute!”
“I’m aware. Everyone’s aware.” I kept my voice level. “Did you have insurance on the vehicle?”
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “What the fuck has that got to do with anything?”
No insurance, then. “So, you can add a police report to your insurance claim,” I said.
“I don’t want to lodge a damn claim.” The tendons in his neck looked ready to snap. “I want her arrested! I’m telling you right now, if you lot don’t do your jobs, I’ll sort it out myself.”
I straightened up. “Well, you’ve gone about this all wrong.” I hauled him to his feet with a grip he had no hope of breaking.
“Wait—what the hell? Where are you taking me?”
“You know where.” I steered him toward the corridor. “You’ve been there before.”
“Ahh, for fuck’s sake.” He tried to wrestle free. I yanked his wrists higher up his back, and he stopped trying to free himself.
As we passed the Sarge’s office, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Senior Sergeant Bob Ackerman stood in his doorway, watching. His expression was like stone, and his arms were folded. I couldn’t tell if the look was directed at Bruce or at me.
I marched Bruce through the station.