Hanley looked at him for several seconds. The lieutenant's expression did not immediately become apologetic or convinced, but something behind his eyes changed. He had heard the name Mercer somewhere recently, perhaps during a departmental briefing that mentioned the incoming commissioner, and the confidence in Adrian's voice did not fit the theory of a frightened impostor. Then Hanley glanced toward Grant.
Grant burst out laughing. "Oh, he's the police commissioner now? That's excellent. Brett, you've got to admire that one. He's really committed to it."
"Sir," Hanley said, "making false claims of official identity isn't going to improve your situation."
"I'm not asking you to believe me without checking," Adrian answered. "I'm asking you to verify the claim through a system you already use. Run my name, check the municipal appointment record, and compare the photograph. If I've misidentified myself, the result will show it. If I haven't, then please arrange medical attention for my wrist."
The words were direct and practical. Nothing in them required Hanley to surrender authority, and nothing depended on Grant agreeing. For an officer genuinely unsure whether a person had claimed a false identity, the requested check would have been a straightforward next step. Hanley nevertheless turned away.
"Put him in the car," he ordered.
Adrian felt the decision land harder than the handcuffs. He had identified the most efficient way to resolve the uncertainty, and Hanley had treated that request as one more reason not to listen. The veteran officer opened the rear door and guided him into the seat, taking care this time not to catch his sleeve. The injury continued to sting as Adrian shifted his cuffed hands behind him.
The door closed. Through the window, Adrian saw the porch light illuminating the front of his new house, the low brick wall, the moving boxes visible just inside the doorway, and the dark shape of the car blocking the driveway. On the opposite side of the street, Grant was speaking to Hanley as though they were concluding a routine service call. Colin stood several feet away, staring at the pavement.
Price lingered near the rear quarter of the patrol car. He had heard Adrian describe his appointment, and he could see that the man in the back seat was neither combative nor incoherent. The alleged offense still seemed unclear, and the blood on his sleeve made the failure to explain it more urgent. Price knew that checking an official identity claim would create a record and might be interpreted by Hanley as a challenge to his judgment.
The young officer thought about his training. He remembered being told that good policing depended on acting independently when evidence contradicted an assumption, even if the assumption came from a superior. He also remembered watching experienced colleagues become impatient with recruits who asked unnecessary questions in front of civilians. The difference between those memories was suddenly not theoretical.
He stepped toward the far side of the patrol vehicle, lowered his voice, and keyed his radio. He requested a name and date-of-birth check for Adrian James Mercer and asked dispatch to confirm any active municipal appointment record. He did not say he was trying to prove Hanley wrong. He asked the question as a factual verification, which was precisely what Adrian had requested.