Raymond saw Dorothy grip the top rail of her fence. Across the street, Marcus Tilman had stopped beside his grandmother's terrier and lifted his phone. The teenager's recording began after Puit moved between Raymond and the front door, but it captured the full exchange that followed. Marcus had never filmed an encounter with police before, and his first instinct was to lower the device. Then he saw the expression on the older man's face and decided to keep recording from the public sidewalk without getting closer.
"I'm not resisting any lawful instruction," Raymond said, projecting his voice enough to be heard down the driveway. "I haven't committed a crime. I'm asking for a supervisor because this encounter has moved beyond any reasonable inquiry about my vehicle." Puit glanced toward the phone in Marcus's hand.
"Tell that kid to stop filming." Raymond did not turn. "He is standing on a public sidewalk. I haven't asked him to do anything."
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Puit said. Raymond shook his head. "No, Officer. Not one second of it." Puit reached for his radio with a quick, irritated movement.
"Dispatch, Unit Seven Foxtrot. I'm at 4117 Maplewood Court, Cedarwood Heights. Uncooperative male subject refusing to identify himself. Send a backup unit."
The dispatcher's response was measured. She asked whether he had a complainant, a reported crime, or a reason to believe anyone was in immediate danger. Puit gave a vague answer about suspicious activity and possible unlawful occupancy before releasing the button. Raymond listened carefully, conscious that the radio transmission was now part of a separate record that would not depend on anyone's memory. He knew the gap between what Puit had said over the radio and what had actually happened could become important later.
"There," Puit said. "Happy now? You wanted an audience." "I wanted oversight," Raymond answered.
"There's a difference." The officer closed the distance another step. "I'm going to ask one last time. Give me your ID." Raymond remained still with his hands visible. "Am I free to leave this encounter and return to my work?"
Puit's face tightened. "Turn around," he said. "Put your hands behind your back." Raymond looked at him directly.
"For what offense?" "Obstruction. Failure to comply. Take your pick." The casual way the officer offered a choice of accusations told Raymond more than an angry shout would have. Puit had started treating criminal allegations as tools to force a desired outcome.
"Officer, I'm not threatening you. I'm not reaching for anything. I am standing in my own driveway," Raymond said.
Puit lunged forward and grabbed his left forearm. His grip was forceful enough to cause pain, and he tried to twist Raymond toward the Chevelle. Raymond did not strike him, pull an arm back to hit him, or move toward the officer's weapon. He held his balance while saying clearly, "You do not have a lawful basis to put your hands on me."
"Stop resisting!" Puit shouted. His voice carried down Maplewood Court, loud enough to turn heads at houses where the lights had not been visible.