Then stopped directly in front of mine.
I straightened.
A uniformed officer climbed out.
He was white, broad-shouldered, and looked annoyed before he even spoke.
He approached without greeting me.
“Ma'am.”
I nodded.
“Good afternoon.”
He looked toward the house.
Then back at me.
“What are you doing here?”
I blinked.
“Checking my flowers.”
His expression hardened.
“Do you live at this address?”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the front door.
Then at my handbag.
“Can you prove that?”
I nodded.
“Certainly.”
Then I asked the question I always taught younger officers to expect from citizens.
“May I ask why you've stopped me?”
His jaw tightened.
And the afternoon began moving toward a confrontation I would spend the next several months trying to understand.
The first officer was Nathan Cole.
His partner was Evan Foster, thirty-five, a five-year veteran of the department who had been assigned to patrol with Cole for only six weeks.
Their cruiser had been dispatched in response to a suspicious-person complaint.
The information they received was brief.
A woman was standing near the front yard of a luxury property.
The caller claimed she was unfamiliar.
No burglary had been reported.
No alarm had activated.
No door or window had been forced.
And nobody reported seeing the woman steal anything.
The caller had simply expressed concern that she did not belong there.
But the dispatch entry included a special flag.
PROPERTY ACCESS CONCERN — PRIOR NEIGHBORHOOD REPORTS.
Cole recognized the flag.
He'd seen similar entries before.
Several came from Silver Crest Estates and neighboring gated communities.
He considered them useful because they suggested private security personnel were already concerned about a particular location.
He rarely questioned how the entries were created.
When the call appeared on his patrol screen, he looked toward Foster.
“Another one in Silver Crest.”
Foster glanced at the address.
“What did they report?”
“Suspicious woman outside a residence.”
“Any description?”
Cole nodded.
“Black female, white outfit, carrying a designer bag.”
Foster frowned.
“Does the caller know she's trespassing?”
Cole shrugged.
“Private security says she doesn't belong there.”
Foster looked toward the screen.
“Doesn't belong there how?”
Cole gave a humorless laugh.