Walsh tensed.
Not with aggression now.
With uncertainty.
I pulled out my phone.
Tapped once.
“Dispatch,” I said clearly, “this is Captain Rivers, Internal Affairs. I need a supervisor unit at Morrison Park. Now.”
Walsh’s head snapped up.
“You called this in?” he asked.
“I don’t do things halfway.”
“You set me up.”
“No,” I said. “I gave you time.”
Sirens, faint at first, echoed somewhere in the distance.
Lopez looked toward the street.
Carter exhaled slowly.
Walsh stood very still.
“You think this is going to end how you want?” he said quietly.
“Yes.”
He laughed again, but there was nothing behind it now.
“Guys like me don’t just—”
“Guys like you always think that,” I interrupted.
The sirens grew louder.
Closer.
Real.
“Turn around,” I said.
He didn’t.
“Turn around, Officer Walsh.”
For a moment, I thought he might resist.
Might push it further.
Might try to turn this into something bigger, louder, messier.
But then something in him… gave.
Not conscience.
Not remorse.
Just the realization that the story was no longer his to control.
Slowly, he turned.
Carter stepped forward.
Hands shaking slightly.
“Walsh…” he said.
Walsh didn’t look at him.
“Cuff him,” I said.
Carter hesitated.
Lopez stepped in.
“I’ll do it,” he said.
He moved with more certainty than he had shown all week.
The cuffs clicked.
Metal on metal.
Final.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
PART 5 — The Part People Never See
The supervisor unit arrived two minutes later.
Lights flashing.
Doors opening.
Questions starting before they even stepped out.
I stood, brushing dirt from my coat.
The blanket stayed on the bench.
Camera still recording.
Always recording.
“Captain Rivers?” one of the supervisors asked.
“That’s me.”
He looked at Walsh.
At the cuffs.
At Carter and Lopez.
“What happened here?”
I met his eyes.
“An investigation ended.”
He nodded once, already understanding more than he was saying.
“Body cam footage?” he asked.
“Collected,” I said. “And supplemented.”
He glanced at the blanket.
“Understood.”
They took Walsh.
No resistance.
No fight.
Just silence.
As they walked him toward the cruiser, he turned his head slightly.
Not toward me.
Toward the bench.
Toward the place he had decided someone didn’t deserve to rest.
For the first time, he looked at it like it mattered.
