Cooler opened.
Ice dumped.
Groceries overturned.
Terrence remained beside the guardrail.
Watching.
Recording mentally.
He did not interfere.
That restraint seemed to infuriate Mercer.
At one point Mercer held up a sealed envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Personal.”
Mercer tore it open.
Inside was a birthday card.
For Terrence’s mother.
Mercer read the front.
70 YEARS LOVED.
Then dropped it.
Terrence looked at him.
Mercer shrugged.
“Should’ve told me.”
“I told you everything in the truck was personal property.”
Mercer continued.
Then the cake.
The cake had been made by a bakery Terrence’s mother loved.
Vanilla with lemon filling.
Pale-blue frosting.
White flowers.
Her favorite.
Terrence had ordered it four days earlier.
Mercer opened the box.
Looked inside.
Then pressed two gloved fingers into the frosting.
“What’s under the cake?”
“Cardboard.”
Mercer lifted it.
Nothing.
He flipped it.
The cake slid.
Terrence closed his eyes for half a second.
Then Mercer tossed the box onto the shoulder.
It landed upside down.
And stepped on it.
Now, minutes later, Mercer was shaking the final backpack.
Still nothing.
The Officer threw it onto the ground.
“Where is it?”
Terrence looked at him.
“Where is what?”
Mercer walked closer.
“The reason you’re acting so calm.”
Terrence almost smiled.
“You’re searching for evidence of calm?”
“People who know they’re innocent get angry.”
Terrence stared.
“That is not a legal standard.”
Mercer pointed at him.
“There.”
“What?”
“That attitude.”
Terrence looked toward Benson.
The younger officer immediately looked away.
Interesting.
Terrence said:
“Officer Mercer.”
Mercer stopped.
“How do you know my name?”
“It’s on your uniform.”
Mercer glanced down.
Then back.
Terrence continued.
“You have searched every accessible area of my vehicle.”
“You have found nothing unlawful.”
“You have damaged personal property.”
“You have destroyed food.”
“You have opened correspondence.”
“You have ignored the registration and my identification.”
Mercer laughed.
“You sound like a lawyer.”
“No.”
“Then shut up.”
Terrence did.
Mercer walked toward the scattered pile again.
His frustration had become almost visible.
He kicked aside the garment bag.
Then lifted the clean white shirt covered in frosting.
Something underneath shifted.
A small black leather wallet slid across the gravel.
Terrence saw it.
Mercer did too.
The wallet bounced once.
Twice.
Then flipped open.
Gold caught sunlight.
Mercer froze.
Benson looked over.
Terrence stayed where he was.
The badge faced upward.
Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Benson’s mouth opened.
Mercer did not move.
For three seconds, traffic noise seemed to disappear.
Then Mercer crouched.
Picked up the wallet.
Read the identification.
His face changed.
Not completely.