“We didn’t know what you were reaching for.”

“You watched me pick it up.”

Neither man replied.

I looked toward my driver’s seat.

My phone was still lying where it had fallen.

Then I looked at the second officer.

“You told me to put the phone away before you opened the door.”

He swallowed.

The tall officer handed my credentials back.

“Look, Investigator, we made a mistake.”

I took the case.

“No.”

He stared at me.

“No?”

“It wasn’t a mistake.”

His eyes narrowed.

I slipped the credentials back into my pocket.

“A mistake is writing the wrong date on a report. A mistake is misreading a plate number.

A mistake is taking the wrong exit.”

I held up my wrists.

“This required several decisions.”

Neither spoke.

“You decided not to identify yourself. You decided not to tell me why I was stopped.

You decided that my questions were disrespectful. You decided to order me out.

You decided to interfere when I picked up my phone. You decided to use force.

Then you decided to handcuff me.”

The second officer’s mouth opened.

I raised one hand.

“I’m not finished.”

He closed it.

“You had multiple opportunities to stop.”

I paused.

“You didn’t.”

The first officer stared at me.

Something was happening behind his eyes.

Calculation.

He was no longer thinking about the roadside encounter.

He was thinking about what came next.

Reports.

Supervisors.

Body cameras.

Internal review.

His job.

His partner must have been thinking the same thing.

“Can we talk about this?” he asked.

“We are talking.”

“I mean reasonably.”

That word almost made me smile.

“Was I being unreasonable when I asked why you stopped me?”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Was I unreasonable when I asked your names?”

“No, but…”

“When I told you I wasn’t resisting?”

His eyes dropped.

The second officer stepped forward.

“We were trying to control the situation.”

“What situation?”

He had no answer.

I looked from one man to the other.

Then I reached into my left pocket.

Both officers tensed.

Interesting.

I slowly removed a small recording device.

A red light blinked near the top.

The second officer stared at it.

The tall officer whispered something under his breath.

I held the recorder between two fingers.

“This has been running since before you approached my vehicle.”

The first officer’s face changed again.

“You recorded us?”

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

The second officer looked toward the patrol car.

Then toward my car.

Then back at the recorder.

For the first time, I saw genuine fear.

Not fear of me.

Fear of evidence.

I had learned early in investigative work that people often weren’t afraid of what they had done.

They were afraid of what could be proved.

The first officer straightened.

“Why were you recording before we stopped you?”

There it was.

The question I had been waiting for.

“Because this wasn’t an ordinary drive.”

Neither man moved.

“Three complaints were filed during the past month involving officers working this road.”

The second officer’s lips parted.

I continued.

“The details were similar enough to justify review.”

“What complaints?” the first officer asked.

“I think you know.”

“I don’t.”