Her expression did not change.
“My identification is inside the bag you just ordered me to access.”
For the first time, Mercer appeared to hear the contradiction.
Behind him, the woman with the flowers had stopped watering entirely.
A second resident stood at the end of a driveway.
Mercer recovered.
“Slowly.”
Simone moved one hand toward the bag.
Opened the top.
Her state identification rested inside a side pocket.
She did not remove it.
Instead, her fingers closed around the dark leather folder.
She pulled it out.
Mercer looked irritated.
“I asked for ID.”
“I heard you.”
She opened the folder.
Official state seal.
Government letterhead.
Across the first page:
STATE CIVIL RIGHTS OVERSIGHT BUREAU
FORMAL LAW-ENFORCEMENT PRACTICES COMPLAINT REVIEW
Beneath that:
Ashford Heights Pedestrian and Vehicle Contact Pattern
Mercer stared.
His face changed only slightly.
Simone noticed everything.
The quick movement of his eyes.
The way his mouth tightened.
His glance toward the body camera.
Recognition?
Maybe.
He looked at the document again.
“What is that supposed to be?”
“It isn’t supposed to be anything.”
She kept the folder steady.
“It is exactly what it says.”
His eyes moved lower.
Several incident numbers were visible.
Dates.
Street addresses.
Officer identifiers.
One line read:
Officer D. Mercer — Badge 4172
Simone saw the moment he recognized his own number.
His shoulders changed.
Not fear exactly.
Defensiveness.
He looked at her face.
“You’re investigating somebody?”
Simone closed the folder.
“I haven’t told you what I’m doing.”
“Then tell me.”
“No.”
Mercer stared.
“You’re refusing to identify yourself.”
“No.”
“You ordered me to reach into my bag and then ordered me not to move my hands.”
“I complied with both instructions as far as physically possible.”
“I asked for ID.”
“You did.”
“And you still haven’t provided it.”
Simone nodded.
“That’s correct.”
Mercer took another step toward her.
“Then provide it.”
Simone held his gaze.
“Am I free to leave?”
“No.”
“Then state the reasonable basis for the detention.”
Mercer’s eyes hardened.
“You don’t get to interrogate me.”
“I’m asking why I’m being detained.”
“You were walking through a private residential neighborhood taking notes.”
“The sidewalk is public.”
“That doesn’t mean you can case houses.”
“Are you accusing me of casing houses?”
“I’m saying that’s something I have to investigate.”
“Based on what?”
He pointed around them.
“Look where you are.”
Simone became very still.
“Explain that.”
Mercer seemed to realize he had stepped near dangerous ground.
He corrected quickly.
“This is an affluent neighborhood with repeated property crimes.”
“Do you have a report of a property crime today?”
“No.”
“Do you have a report that I entered private property?”
“No.”
“Tried a door?”
“No.”
“Touched a vehicle?”
“No.”
“Looked into a window?”
“You were observing houses.”
“So are you.”
His face flushed.
A landscaping worker turned away, hiding a smile.
Mercer noticed.
Humiliation entered the equation.
That was bad.
Not because Simone wanted to embarrass him.
Because people with authority sometimes made their worst decisions after feeling publicly challenged.
Mercer pointed toward the folder.
“Give me that.”
“No.”