“Good evening, Officer Ellison. Is there a problem?”
Ellison walked closer.
“I ask the questions.”
Victor’s expression barely changed.
It was a sentence young officers sometimes used after watching too many television dramas and too few experienced cops conduct good street encounters.
“All right,” Victor said.
“What are you doing here?”
“Walking.”
“In this neighborhood.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Victor glanced down Elmwood Drive.
“Because it has sidewalks.”
Ellison’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t get smart.”
“I answered your question.”
“We’ve had problems around here.”
“What kind?”
“Burglaries.”
Victor knew enough about department operations to recognize the weakness immediately.
Oak Creek had experienced property crime during the previous year, mostly unlocked vehicles and package thefts. But there had been no active burglary series matching anything about Victor.
More importantly, Ellison had not mentioned a complainant, location, suspect description, direction of travel, or recent dispatch.
He was building justification backward from intuition.
Victor had trained supervisors to recognize exactly that.
“What makes me relevant to those burglaries?” Victor asked.
Ellison took another step.
“You were looking at houses.”
“I was looking at flowers.”
Ellison gave a short laugh.
“Sure.”
“My wife wants hydrangeas.”
“You expect me to believe you’re walking around a neighborhood like this checking out landscaping?”
Victor studied him.
“A neighborhood like what?”
The question landed.
Ellison hesitated.
Only for an instant.
Then his irritation deepened.
“You got identification?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to me.”
Victor remained still.
“Am I being detained?”
Ellison’s eyes narrowed.
“You one of those guys?”
“What kind of guy?”
“Street lawyer.”
Victor almost sighed.
“No, Officer Ellison. I’m asking whether I’m free to leave.”
“No.”
“Then articulate your reasonable suspicion.”
Ellison laughed again, louder this time.
“You think you know my job?”
“Yes.”
That single word changed the encounter.
Victor heard it happen before he saw it.
Ellison’s breathing shortened.
Shoulders squared.
Feet widened.
The officer was no longer trying to investigate.
He was trying to win.
“I’ve got a suspicious individual walking through Oak Creek looking into private properties,” Ellison said.
“Who reported me?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.”
“So someone did report me?”
Ellison did not answer directly.
Victor nodded slightly.
That told him enough.
“Officer, I’m going to suggest something before this becomes unnecessary.”
“Oh, now you’re giving me suggestions?”
“Yes.”
“Take a step back. Call your dispatcher. Confirm whether there is actually an active complaint matching me. Then decide whether you have a lawful basis to continue.”
Ellison stared at him.
“You don’t tell me how to conduct an investigation.”
“I’m telling you how not to manufacture one.”
That did it.
Ellison stepped closer until less than two feet separated them.
“You have no business being in this neighborhood.”
Victor’s face changed.
Not much.
But the last trace of conversational warmth disappeared.
There it was.
Not burglaries.
Not flowers.
Not conduct.
Belonging.
Victor looked directly at him.
“What exactly tells you I have no business here?”
Ellison pointed at the cruiser.
“Hands on the hood.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”