“You were still in uniform.”
“Yes.”
He looked around again.
The crowd no longer offered uncertainty.
Only scrutiny.
Crawford’s earlier confidence evaporated.
But the worst part had not arrived yet.
The MP sergeant shifted closer.
“Sir.”
Crawford snapped, “What now?”
“I need to ask whether you’ve consumed alcohol this morning.”
Crawford froze.
Jessica said nothing.
The staff sergeant nearby said nothing.
No one needed to.
Crawford looked at the MP.
“That accusation came from her.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’re just accepting it?”
“I’m asking a question.”
Crawford laughed.
“I had coffee.”
The MP sergeant’s face stayed neutral.
“That wasn’t my question.”
The silence deepened.
Jessica watched Crawford’s eyes move around the crowd.
For the first time, he seemed to understand the scale of the problem.
Not a private argument.
Not a misunderstanding.
Witnesses everywhere.
A physical grip.
Repeated refusals to release her.
A public accusation.
