Derek generated numbers.
Derek looked good in front of cameras.
Complaints, Briggs told himself, came with aggressive policing.
And aggressive policing was exactly what the mayor’s office wanted when crime statistics became politically inconvenient.
Derek had learned the lesson.
Results were rewarded.
Questions were not.
As his patrol car moved through Westbrook Plaza, his eyes scanned vehicles automatically.
Then he saw the Lexus.
Dark blue.
Late-model luxury sedan.
Clean.
Parked near the entrance.
A Black man sat alone in the driver’s seat.
Derek’s attention sharpened.
It happened in seconds.
Not a conscious statement.
Not at first.
A chain of assumptions so familiar that Derek mistook them for professional instinct.
Expensive car.
Black driver.
Whitmore-adjacent commercial district.
Possibility of theft.
Possibility of drugs.
Possibility of fraud.
Something doesn’t fit.
That was the sentence Derek trusted most.
Something doesn’t fit.
He ran the plate.
The mobile computer responded.
REGISTERED OWNER: SAMUEL J. OWENS.
Whitmore Heights address.
No stolen report.
No wants.
No warrants.
No flags.
Derek frowned.
He ran it again.
Same answer.