Nobody spoke.
I looked toward the empty cup in Rourke's hand.
"And within five minutes of entering the building, you've provided me with a separate incident that requires documentation."
Rourke's face turned pale.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then tried to smile.
"Come on, man. I didn't know—"
I raised one hand.
I looked directly into his eyes.
"Would you have poured coffee over me if I were your commanding officer?"
He said nothing.
"Would you have shoved the district attorney?"
Still nothing.
"Would you have done it to the police chief?"
His eyes dropped.
I nodded slowly.
"That's what I thought."
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then I looked toward Sergeant Keller.
"Preserve the breakroom surveillance recording."
Keller swallowed.
"Of course."
"And any relevant hallway footage."
He nodded.
"Yes, sir."
"Nobody deletes anything, edits anything, or attempts to explain away what happened before the incident is documented."
Rourke looked toward the floor.
I continued.
"I also want the names of every officer who witnessed it."
Keller's face tightened.
"You understand, Investigator, this was just—"
He stopped.
I looked toward the younger officers.
"That's what you were going to call it?"
Nobody answered.
I glanced at the plastic cup.
Then at the coffee dripping from my sleeve.
"Funny thing about jokes."
The room remained silent.
"They usually require somebody to be laughing who isn't the person being humiliated."
I turned toward the doorway.
The young Latina officer stood there, watching.
She met my eyes.
For a moment, her expression seemed conflicted.
Then she straightened.
"Investigator Vance?"
"My body camera was recording when I came into the room."
The silence deepened.
Keller turned sharply.
The young officer swallowed.
"But I didn't activate it for this incident. It was already recording from a call I'd just cleared, and I hadn't completed the recording process yet."
I studied her.
"What's your name?"
"Officer Lena Ortiz."
"Did you witness what happened?"
"Yes, sir."
"All of it?"
She nodded.
I looked toward her camera.
"Follow your department's evidence-preservation procedures. Do not review or alter the recording on your own."
She nodded.
"Understood."
Keller looked as though he might say something.
Then thought better of it.
I turned back toward Rourke.
He was still holding the empty cup.
"Officer."
He looked up.
"Put that down."
He obeyed.
The plastic cup struck the table with a tiny hollow sound.
Then I reached into my briefcase.
Removed a thick official document.
And looked toward the hallway.
"Now," I said, "I'd like to speak with the commander."
Nobody laughed.
Not anymore.
But the coffee incident was not why I had come to the Fourteenth Precinct.
It was merely the first mistake the officers made in front of me.