Officer Grant Bellamy climbed out from behind the wheel. He was broad-shouldered, square-jawed, and close to fifty, with the purposeful movements of a man accustomed to being obeyed. Officer Daniel Reeves emerged from the passenger side, younger by perhaps fifteen years. Reeves looked first toward Vanessa, then toward Marcus, then at the open front door and the furniture visible through it. His expression suggested he was already trying to reconcile several incompatible facts.
“Officers, thank God,” Vanessa announced. “I’ve been standing here terrified. This man will not leave.”
Bellamy glanced at Marcus and stopped listening to the woman’s details. “Sir. Step away from the vehicle.”
“Officer, my name is Marcus Ellison. This is my residence, and the Ferrari belongs to me. I can provide—”
“I said step away.”
Marcus moved a pace toward the center of the driveway. “I’m happy to cooperate. I’d like to show you my identification.”
“Hands where I can see them.”
His hands were already visible. He lifted them slightly anyway. Vanessa watched with naked satisfaction. Marcus recognized the old choreography: one person made the accusation, an officer assumed it had merit, and the accused person had to prove an innocence that should never have been in doubt.
Reeves approached the moving truck rather than Marcus. “Sir,” he asked Luis, “are you delivering to this address?”
“Yes. Furniture for Mr. Ellison. His company arranged the move. We have work orders and the delivery manifest.”
Bellamy turned sharply. “Reeves, I’ve got this.”
“Just establishing who’s who,” Reeves replied.
Vanessa stepped between them. “You don’t understand. He’s very convincing. He may have convinced those men to go along with him. I’m on the neighborhood safety committee. We don’t have people showing up like this without somebody being notified.”
“What law requires a resident to notify you?” Marcus asked.
Bellamy took two quick steps forward. “Don’t get smart with her.”
“I asked a question. I haven’t raised my voice.”
“Turn around.”
“For what reason?”
“I’m detaining you while we investigate.”
Marcus kept his voice low. “Am I suspected of a specific crime? I have offered my identification, and the movers can verify who hired them.”
Bellamy grabbed his left wrist. The contact was abrupt enough to make the unfinished coffee on the wall tremble when Marcus’s elbow struck the stone. Instinct told him to pull away. Training and hard experience told him what resisting could cost. He allowed his arms to be turned behind his back while Reeves said, “Grant, wait. Let’s run the plate first.”
“We have a complaint,” Bellamy said.
“We have a complaint about a man standing outside a house with movers carrying his furniture inside. We can check that.”
Bellamy snapped the handcuffs shut. The metal was cold, then painfully tight. A flash of sunlight caught the curved edges of the cuffs, and Marcus heard someone on the sidewalk gasp. Vanessa stepped closer and raised her middle finger a few inches from his face.
“You deserve this,” she hissed. “You thought you could fool everybody, didn’t you?”