“And I asked whether I’m being detained.”
People nearby began noticing.
An older man walking a small dog slowed.
A woman pushing a stroller glanced over.
Twenty yards away, a reporter named Lena Morris lowered the coffee she had been drinking.
She recognized the seated woman instantly.
Mercer did not.
That was the first mistake.
Lena reached into her shoulder bag.
She removed a compact camera.
Back at the bench, Mercer said, “You’ve been monitoring police activity and taking notes.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m under no obligation to explain lawful activity merely because you dislike it.”
Price swallowed.
Mercer’s expression changed.
There was a particular tone people occasionally used with him.
Attorneys.
Activists.
People who had spent too much time reading constitutional law online.
A tone that implied his badge was a limitation rather than authority.
Mercer despised it.
He leaned slightly forward.
“You have a lot of attitude for somebody who’s attracting police attention.”
The woman looked at the gold insignia on his collar.
Then his nameplate.
MERCER.
Finally she looked at his chest.
At the dark body camera.
“Chief Mercer.”
Something about hearing his name made him pause.
The woman continued.
“Before this conversation goes any further, I strongly suggest you turn your body camera back on.”
Price felt the blood leave his face.
Mercer stared at her.
“What did you say?”
“Your camera is not recording.”
She looked toward Price.
“His is.”
Price resisted the instinct to look down.
Mercer did.
The younger officer’s red light blinked steadily.
Mercer’s face tightened.
He turned toward Price.
“You recording?”
Department policy required it.
Price nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Mercer looked back at the woman.
“Give me your phone.”
“No.”
“Hand it over.”
“No.”
Mercer reached.
The woman moved it away.
He snatched it from her fingers.
Price took half a step forward.
“Chief—”
Mercer threw the phone onto the bench beside her.
It struck the iron armrest before landing on the wooden slats.
The woman stood.
She was taller than Mercer expected.
Her expression remained controlled, but something colder had entered it.
“Do not touch my property again.”
Mercer laughed.
“You don’t give orders here.”
“I wasn’t giving an order.”
She adjusted one sleeve.
“I was giving you an opportunity.”
Price felt a terrible certainty forming inside him.
This woman was not frightened.
Not because she was reckless.
Because she knew exactly what Mercer was doing.
The chief did not recognize the difference.
“Sit down.”
She remained standing.
Mercer placed one hand against her shoulder and shoved her backward.
Not hard enough to knock her down.
Hard enough that the back of her legs struck the bench.
People gasped.
Lena Morris had already started recording.
More importantly, the small red symbol on her camera screen showed something Mercer could not see.
LIVE.
The feed was going directly to the newsroom server.
The woman steadied herself.
She looked at Mercer.
“Chief.”