“My wife—”
“I understand.”
The officer stepped slightly closer without touching him.
“And that's exactly why you need to let us handle the yard.”
The Homeowner looked toward the glass doors.
Blue water shimmered in sunlight.
Ten minutes earlier, it had looked harmless.
Now it looked like evidence.
His phone rang.
His wife.
He answered immediately.
“We're okay.”
He closed his eyes.
“Everybody?”
“They’re monitoring us.”
“The kids are scared.”
“But we’re okay.”
The Homeowner turned away from the officer.
“I found something.”
His wife heard his voice.
“What?”
“The camera caught someone coming into the yard.”
Silence.
“Who?”
He looked through the glass.
“The HOA President.”
His wife did not answer.
Then:
“What did she do?”
“She poured something into the pool.”
His wife inhaled sharply.
The Homeowner said:
“Police are here.”
“Stay there.”
“Do not come home until they tell us it’s safe.”
His wife whispered:
“She knew the kids swim Saturday mornings.”
He did not answer.
Because that possibility had already occurred to him.
And it made him want to do things he knew would only help her defense.
He lowered his voice.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
He ended the call.
Outside, more vehicles arrived.
Not just patrol cars.
A city hazardous-material response vehicle.
An evidence van.
Then an unmarked sedan.
The Homeowner looked through the window.
The patrol officer said:
“Detectives.”
“Already?”
The officer’s expression was strange.
“Apparently they were nearby.”
That did not make sense.
A private residential pool contamination normally did not summon city forensic personnel this quickly.
The Homeowner noticed.
He remembered that detail later.
The Lead Detective entered the house.
Mid-forties.
Calm.
No wasted movement.
The Homeowner showed him the video.
Once.
The detective asked to see it again.
Then a third time.
He paused on the HOA President climbing the gate.
Zoomed slightly.
“Do you have prior disputes with her?”
The Homeowner laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“How much time do you have?”
The detective did not smile.
“Start with the recent ones.”
The Homeowner sat.
His bathrobe suddenly felt ridiculous.
He did not care enough to change.
“Six months ago, the HOA adopted a pool-safety compliance program.”
The detective wrote.
“Explain.”
“Anyone with a private pool had to submit monthly water-quality certification during summer.”
“Who did the testing?”
“Originally, residents could use any licensed company.”
“Then?”
“Board changed it.”
“When?”
“About four months ago.”
“Now only one vendor is approved.”
The detective looked up.
“Which vendor?”
“Blue Crown Aquatics.”