The old Ford behind him had faded paint along the hood, a long scratch down the passenger door, and enough years on it to look badly out of place among Cedar Ridge's polished vehicles.
Marcus himself wasn't dressed like the kind of man Susan expected to see stepping out of an expensive home.
That appeared to be all the evidence she needed.
Susan turned slightly away.
"Yes, please hurry."
Marcus heard the dispatcher say something he couldn't make out.
Then Susan answered, "Thank you."
She lowered the phone.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Water continued creeping toward the gutter.
Across the street, Daniel Harper stood at the edge of his porch with his arms folded.
The 47-year-old electrician had watched enough of the confrontation to know what Marcus had been doing before Susan crossed the property line.
Moving boxes.
Nothing more.
Two houses away, 68-year-old Helen Foster stood behind the railing of her porch.
Her expression was troubled, almost ashamed, but she remained where she was.
Farther down the street, 61-year-old Thomas Bennett watched from behind a partially opened front door.
Marcus saw all three.
Susan saw them, too.
Their silence seemed to strengthen her.
"You should have left when I told you," she said.
Marcus looked at her.
"This is my home."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's true."
Susan folded her arms.
"Well, the police can decide what's true."
Something changed in Marcus's expression then.
It wasn't fear exactly.
It was something quieter.
Knowledge.
He looked toward the entrance of Cedar Ridge.
No cruisers yet.
But they were coming.
Susan mistook his silence for uncertainty.
Her mouth tightened into the faintest smile.
"You had plenty of chances to make this easy."
Marcus breathed slowly through his nose.
There were a dozen things he could have done to make it easy.
The leather case was less than 6 feet away.
He could have opened the passenger door.
He could have taken out what was inside.
He could have ended Susan's certainty with one gesture.
He didn't.
Instead, Marcus took one deliberate step farther from the truck.
Then another.
He positioned himself in the open section of the driveway where anyone approaching from Hawthorne Lane would have an unobstructed view of his entire body.
His hands stayed visible.
Susan frowned.
She had expected an argument.
What she saw instead looked almost rehearsed.
Marcus reached very slowly toward the front of his jeans, stopped before touching the pocket, and reconsidered.
He removed nothing.
His phone was already resting on the hood of the truck.
His wallet stayed in his pocket.
His keys stayed where they were.
The case stayed closed.
"Marcus."
It was the first time Daniel had used his name.
Marcus turned his head only slightly.
"Stay where you are, Daniel."
"Why?"
"Just stay there."
Daniel's brow furrowed.
Susan looked between them.
Marcus faced the street again.
Then he heard it.
Faint at first.
A siren.
Susan heard it a second later.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Another siren joined the first.
Then a third.
The sound grew louder as it passed through the entrance to Cedar Ridge, bouncing between brick houses and rows of mature trees.
Front doors opened farther down Hawthorne Lane.
Curtains shifted.
Helen stepped closer to the edge of her porch.
Marcus remained in the driveway.
Drenched from shoulder to boot.
Hands open.