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For half a second, I think Casey is wrong.

I think we’re about to watch an arrest.

“So far, so good,” Casey whispers. “Maybe somebody finally grew a conscience.”

The Chief opens the rear door.

The pastor doesn’t get in.

Instead, he reaches inside, pulls something out, and hands it to him. A bottle of water.

Casey lets out a disgusted scoff.

Pastor Scofield drinks while the Chief stands beside him. A minute passes. Maybe two. Then another vehicle rolls barely into frame and stops behind the cruiser.

A young man gets out.

Serena leans closer to the television. “Who is that?”

The boy and the Chief speak for less than a minute. Then he takes the Pastor’s keys.

“Okay,” Casey whispers. “Good. Great. Somebody else is driving him home.” There’s relief in her voice.

The boy slides behind the wheel of Pastor Scofield’s car. He makes his way around to the passenger side, still unsteady enough that the Chief catches him by the arm and guides him into the seat. Then he shuts the door, gives the roof two quick taps, and steps back.

No cuffs.

No sobriety test that I can see. No second cruiser. No ambulance. No tow truck.

Nothing that looks remotely like what should happen when a man is caught driving so drunk he can barely stand upright.

The sedan pulls away. The second car pulls away, a third person in the driver’s seat.

A few seconds later, the Chief gets back into his cruiser and follows.

Casey lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The camera stays trained on the empty street.

Serena’s eyes close.

On the tape, Casey continues, anger overtaking the whisper in her voice. “Last time he blew through the light by the pharmacy and almost hit a woman in the crosswalk. She had to jump out of the way, and everybody said it was fine because the Chief ‘handled it.’ I guess handling it means making sure Pastor Scofield gets home before anybody can put a breathalyzer in front of him.”

She pauses.

“No. Fuck that.”

The picture dips, catching the windowsill and Casey’s hand as she adjusts her grip.

“I have it this time.”

She lifts the camera again, aiming it at the empty street where the cars disappeared.

“All of it.”

My stomach drops. Serena’s fingers close around my forearm.

The 911 transcript comes back all at once.