"I'm not finished."
Gallagher's jaw tightened.
Daniel's years in courtrooms surfaced.
Not loud.
Precise.
"I am now asking for the third time whether I am free to leave."
Gallagher said, "We're following up on a dispatch call."
Daniel nodded.
"I understand dispatch calls."
"I don't think you understand—"
"I spent fourteen years representing people questioned after dispatch calls."
Gallagher stopped.
Daniel continued.
"You have my identification. You ran it. It came back clean. Unless you are placing me under arrest, I am leaving."
Gallagher said nothing.
Daniel looked toward Meeks.
Then Hollis.
"Am I under arrest?"
Neither responded.
Daniel bent slowly.
Picked up the tote.
Retrieved his clipboard from the patrol hood.
He noticed the flyer.
His own face.
He held it up for half a second.
Then looked at Hollis.
"I hope your camera is on."
Hollis swallowed.
"It is."
"Good."
Daniel turned.
Gallagher called after him.
"Sir, we're trying to do our job."
Daniel stopped.
He didn't turn fully around.
"I know."
Then he looked back.
"So was I."
He walked toward Renee's van.
Renee kept recording.
Gallagher remained beside the patrol car.
Meeks said something too quiet for Renee's microphone.
Hollis stared at the flyer still in his hand.
Daniel opened the passenger door.
Renee lowered the camera.
"You okay?"
"No."
It was the first honest answer Daniel had given since police arrived.
"Get in."
He did.
Renee locked the doors.
Only then did Daniel's hands begin shaking.
He stared at them.
Renee noticed.
"Daniel."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
"I know."
He closed his eyes.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Outside, officers remained on the sidewalk.
Renee placed the camera on the dashboard.
"Did they touch you?"
"No."
"Cuff you?"
"No."
"Search you?"
"They tried."
"What happened?"
Daniel exhaled.
"I opened the bag."
"Because?"
"You know why."
Renee did.
She had spent years reporting these encounters.
The distance between voluntary and coerced was sometimes measured in tone, posture, and the visible proximity of a hand to a weapon.
Daniel looked at the dashboard clock.
9:27.
"We have volunteers waiting."
Renee stared.
"You're not canvassing."
"Yes, I am."
"Daniel."
"I am not letting that be the last thing that happens in this neighborhood today."
She studied him.
"You sure?"
"No."
He opened the door.
"Let's go anyway."
By 9:40, Daniel was standing in Patricia Lewis's living room with eleven volunteers.
Everyone already knew.
Police vehicles on a residential block attracted attention.
One volunteer had seen part of the encounter from a porch.
Another had received a message from someone nearby.
Patricia, seventy and five feet two inches tall, grabbed Daniel's face between both hands.
"Baby, are you all right?"
Daniel smiled despite himself.
"I'm okay, Miss Lewis."
"Don't lie to an old woman."
"I'm not okay."