“Ma’am,” he said, “do you have any proof that you rent this cabin to him? Any contract?” Karen froze for half a second. Her pupils flicked sideways. Classic sign of someone who just realized they have walked straight into a wall of their own lies. “Well, I don’t have it on me,” she sputtered. “It’s at home. Safe. Very official.” “Okay,” the officer said, “but right now we need something to confirm what you’re saying.” She hesitated. Then she inhaled deeply, lifted her chin, and said, “I don’t need to prove anything. He’s the problem.”
I decided it was time to accelerate things. “Officer,” I said, handing over my folder, “here’s the deed. The utility bill in my name. Photos of the electric meter from this morning. And logs of the spikes in energy when I wasn’t here.” The officer accepted the papers, flipping through them while Karen hovered close behind him, trying to peek and simultaneously acting offended that he was looking at them at all. When he got to the meter photographs, his eyebrows lifted. “These were taken at what time?” “6:12 a.m.,” I said. “All breakers were off. No appliances were running. So what was drawing power?” I nodded toward the cord. He followed its path with his eyes, then walked over to it, then bent down. His gloved fingers lifted it from the dirt. He gave me that look cops give when they realize the person yelling the loudest is the one who is guilty.
“Ma’am,” he called. “Where does this cord lead?” “It’s none of your business,” she snapped. Perhaps the single worst answer she could have picked. The younger officer stepped up. “Actually, it is. If this cord is pulling power without permission, that’s theft.” Karen’s face turned a shade of tomato red that would have made the Heinz family proud. “It’s temporary,” she screamed. “My power was turned off because of a mistake. The company is fixing it next week. He doesn’t even live here full-time. He won’t miss a little electricity.” The tall officer exhaled, weary. “Ma’am, that’s not how the law works.” I could have hugged him.
“Let’s follow the cord,” the younger officer said. Karen immediately threw herself in front of them like a frantic soccer goalie. “No, you can’t go down there. That’s my private property.” The tall officer looked her dead in the eye. “If the cord is connected to stolen electricity, we have cause to inspect it.” I almost burst out laughing at the expression on her face. Watching Karen grapple with the realization that the police were not dancing to her tune was like watching a cartoon villain realize their plan had a giant hole in it. She stomped. Her foot literally stomped, like a five-year-old denied candy. “This is harassment,” she shrieked. “I know my rights.” “So do we,” the younger officer replied calmly.