"That should be plenty of time," she said.
Chapter Thirteen
Five Minutes of Constitutional Law
Natalie sat down in the patio chair as if the morning had become an ordinary appointment, and in a way it had. She crossed her legs, settled the ceramic mug in both hands, and took a sip of coffee that had gone lukewarm while the cruisers sat in her driveway. She did not look at her phone. She did not call a lawyer. She did not do any of the things a frightened person does when authority arrives uninvited. She simply sat, and looked at Mallory, and let the five minutes do their work.
Mallory stood in the driveway with nowhere to put his hands. All morning his hand had rested on his gun or his duty belt, a habit so automatic he no longer noticed it. Now every place felt wrong: at his sides they hung uselessly, on his belt they looked like a threat he could no longer back up, folded across his chest they looked defensive. He settled for hooking his thumbs in his belt loops, pretending to be relaxed while sweat beaded along his hairline.
Natalie watched the sweat. It started as a faint shine at the edge of his closely shaved scalp, then gathered into small drops that caught the morning light. His swagger, which had carried him up the driveway like armor, was deflating in slow motion, and there was nothing he could do to stop it because the deflation was not happening to his body. It was happening to his story. A man who has just threatened to cuff the United States Attorney does not get his confidence back by standing straighter.
"You will learn a great deal about constitutional law in five minutes," Natalie said, her voice conversational, almost pleasant. "Shall we begin with the first lesson?"
Mallory said nothing. Cole stood a few paces away, staring at the pavement as if it might offer him instructions.
"The first lesson," Natalie said, "is that a police officer cannot compel identification without reasonable articulable suspicion. That is not my opinion. That is the Fourth Amendment, and it is the law of this state. Suspicion must be specific. It must be articulable. It must point to a crime that has happened, is happening, or is about to happen."
"The second lesson," she said, "is the difference between a consensual encounter and a detention. A consensual encounter is a conversation a citizen may walk away from. A detention is not. An officer may not create one out of a feeling. You skipped the first and went straight to the second. You did not ask me who I was. You told me to prove who I was, with cuffs in your hand."
Mallory shifted his weight, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped in his cheek.
"The third lesson," Natalie said, "is about what you actually had when you arrived. You had a call. A call is not a fact. A call is a report, and a report must be tested against what an officer sees with his own eyes. What you saw, Officer Mallory, was a woman drinking coffee on a porch. You saw no crime. You saw no weapon. You saw no flight. You saw a woman in sweatpants, and you decided that was enough."
Cole lifted his head at that, shame moving across his young face. He had seen the same thing Mallory had seen and gone along with it anyway, and that knowledge would stay with him longer than the morning would.
"The fourth lesson," Natalie said, more quietly now, "is that rights do not depend on who is exercising them. They do not grow stronger because the person on the porch went to law school. They do not grow weaker because she is wearing slippers. If you could do this to me, on my own porch, in front of my own open door, then you could do it to anyone on this street. That is the part you should be thinking about while we wait."
Mallory finally spoke, and his voice was hoarse. "You are enjoying this."
Natalie considered the accusation honestly. "No," she said. "I am not enjoying it. I am using it. There is a difference. Enjoyment would mean I wanted this morning to happen. I did not. I wanted coffee and quiet. But since the morning happened, I intend for it to teach something."
She glanced at the street, where the minutes passed with the slow weight of held breath. Somewhere beyond the rooftops a car engine sounded, far off and growing nearer, and Mallory's head turned toward it before he caught himself.
"That is the fifth lesson," Natalie said, following his gaze. "Time. Five minutes is not a long time, unless you are the one who has to stand in it and wait for someone senior to arrive and explain your morning back to you."