She paused.
“Refusing consent is not obstruction.”
Decker looked toward Weston again.
One of the other officers, a woman named Officer Hannah Collins, remained near the second cruiser.
She had not participated much.
Now she asked:
“Sergeant, do we have a plate hit?”
“No.”
“Stolen return?”
“No.”
“Warrant?”
“No.”
Florence listened.
The facts were beginning to separate themselves from Weston’s theory.
That was important.
An initial theory could be reasonable.
It was what happened after contradictory facts arrived that mattered.
Weston turned toward Florence.
“Here’s what I know.”
“You’re riding a motorcycle worth a small fortune.”
“We have a reckless-driving complaint.”
“You’ve got a locked case.”
“You won’t let us search it.”
“And you’ve got an answer for everything.”
Florence looked at him.
“Those are observations.”
“Only one of them even relates to a possible traffic offense.”
Silence.
Weston’s face reddened.
“Last chance.”
“Tell me who you are, where you got the motorcycle, and what is in that case.”
Florence studied him.
Then made a decision.
She had not wanted to reveal her occupation.
She was off duty.
This was personal time.
And more importantly, who she worked for should not determine whether she received lawful treatment.
But the situation had moved beyond a routine stop.
Three cruisers.
An unauthorized search already underway.
Threatened impoundment.
Officers increasingly uncertain.
Florence slowly moved one hand toward the inside of her riding jacket.
Weston reacted instantly.
“Keep your hands where I can see them.”
She froze.
Raised the empty hand.
“I’m reaching for additional identification.”
“What identification?”
Florence looked at him.
“My credentials.”
Weston stared.
She waited.
“May I retrieve them?”
That question forced him to make a conscious decision.
He nodded.
“Slowly.”
Florence reached into the jacket and removed a black leather credential case.
She opened it.
The gold badge caught the afternoon light.
Beside it:
her federal identification.
FLORENCE M. OSBORNE
SPECIAL AGENT
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION
Nobody spoke.
Decker’s eyes widened.
Officer Collins looked from Florence to Weston.
Across the street, someone whispered:
“Oh my God.”
Weston stared.
“You’re FBI?”
Florence closed the credential case.
“Yes.”
His posture changed immediately.
Florence saw it.
She did not enjoy it.
That was exactly the problem.
Nothing about the facts had changed.
She had still made the same stop.
Presented the same license.
Declined the same search.
The badge had not traveled backward and made her rights more real.
Weston said:
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Florence looked at him.