Puit did not respond like a trainee grateful for correction. "We got ourselves a lawyer," he said, the phrase carrying more contempt than amusement. "You think reciting something you heard on television makes you clever?" Raymond shook his head once. "I think the law matters most when the person enforcing it would rather it didn't." For the first time, Puit seemed genuinely unsettled, not because he was reconsidering his actions but because the man before him had failed to behave as expected.
"Stay right there," Puit said abruptly. He turned toward the cruiser and walked back to its open driver's door, where the computer terminal remained active. He entered the Chevelle's plate number and waited through the brief processing delay. The return identified a 1969 Chevrolet registered to Raymond A. Doss at 4117 Maplewood Court, with no active theft report and no flag attached to the registration. The address matched the house beside which the car was parked.
Raymond could see the glow of the screen reflected in the cruiser window. He watched Puit read the return, pause, and read it again. Any officer acting in good faith would now have had more than enough information to reconsider the encounter, particularly with a neighbor already confirming the homeowner's identity. Raymond waited for the apology, or at least a brief acknowledgment that the officer had found nothing. It did not come.
Puit stepped out of the cruiser and shut the door harder than necessary. "The car checks out," he said. "That doesn't tell me who lives in this house." Raymond looked at him for a moment.
"The registration gives you my name and this address." Puit nodded as though Raymond had missed a point of some importance. "Vehicle ownership and lawful occupancy are different things. We've had fraudulent residency claims."
The new explanation made less sense than the old one. There had been no report of unlawful occupancy on Maplewood Court, no complaint from the property owner, and no apparent emergency. Raymond could see that Puit was no longer investigating a suspected offense so much as searching for language that might justify his refusal to leave. Every answer Raymond supplied removed one pretext and caused another to appear.
"I have lived here six years," Raymond said. "My wife's inside. Our names are on the deed, the mortgage, and every utility bill. If you need to verify something legitimate, I can show you the records from the front porch." Puit moved a step to his left, placing himself between Raymond and the path to the front door.
"You're not going inside until I know what's happening here." Raymond kept his feet where they were. "I wasn't moving toward the house. I'm telling you that the documents exist."
Puit glanced at the residence, studying the curtains and the polished brass number beside the entrance. "You said your wife's inside?" he asked.
"Yes." "Anybody else? Children, guests, somebody who might need assistance?" Raymond was suddenly aware of how carefully the officer was looking toward the house. He answered only what he needed to. "There's no emergency here, and nobody inside has asked for police assistance."
"Well, that creates a complication," Puit said. The words were almost pleased, and the change in tone reached Raymond before the meaning did.