Green looked at Linda.

“What did that message mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Can we see the phone?”

“No.”

“You don't have to consent,” Mills said.

“I know.”

Linda turned toward her SUV.

Green stepped in front of her.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Stay here while we finish.”

“I have nothing else to say.”

Then Linda's phone lit up.

A new message appeared on the screen.

Green didn't touch it.

But she could read the preview.

Maple Lane still has the camera. Wait until dark.

Green looked at Linda.

“So there are other houses.”

Linda locked the screen.

“That is none of your business.”

Mills reached for his radio.

“It is now.”

Twelve Names

Within minutes, dispatch returned three recent complaints from Brookstone Ridge.

A damaged fiber line.

A severed landscape-lighting cable.

A disconnected irrigation controller.

All within six weeks.

Mills looked at Linda.

“Do you know the homeowners?”

“I'm the HOA president. Of course I know them.”

“Were they in violation?”

Linda said nothing.

Green checked the addresses.

“411 Maple Lane.”

“702 Garden Crest.”

“And 188 Willow Crest.”

Jamal stared.

“That last one is me.”

Linda looked away.

Mills asked, “Do you know who lives at Maple Lane?”

Green checked.

“A Hispanic family.”

“And Garden Crest?”

“A Black homeowner.”

Linda immediately snapped.

“Don't turn this into race.”

Jamal looked at her.

“Nobody said race.”

Linda stopped.

She knew exactly what she had revealed.

Martha Ellis stepped off her porch.

“I have something.”

Linda turned.

Martha held up her phone.

“I resigned from the board three months ago.”

Linda's expression hardened.

“Because you couldn't handle enforcement.”