He stopped. He turned around slowly. The patrol car had pulled to the curb. Rohrer was already out, one hand resting on top of the door frame, his posture easy in the way of someone who expected the next part of this conversation to go a very specific way.
Darius set the television down on the driveway. "Moving in," he said.
Rohrer repeated the words with a slight upward inflection as if filing them away rather than acknowledging them. He looked at the house, then at the SUV. "This your place?"
"It is."
Rohrer said something to Keaton that Darius could not hear. Keaton got out, then Bellamy. The three men spread slightly across the driveway, not in any formation that would look deliberate to someone passing by, but deliberate nonetheless.
"We're going to need some ID," Rohrer said, "and proof of residence if you've got it."
Darius walked to the SUV without argument. He kept his movement slow and visible. He retrieved his driver's license from his wallet and took the property deed from the glove compartment—he had brought it along that morning for no particular reason, or perhaps for exactly this one. He handed both documents to Rohrer.
The sergeant studied the license. He read the deed. He checked the address on each document against the number mounted beside the garage door. Everything matched: the name, the address, the date of sale 3 weeks prior.
Rohrer handed the documents back. "What do you do for work?" he said.
Darius looked at him. "Why?"
"Just making conversation."
"I travel for work," Darius said. "Consulting."
Rohrer nodded slowly. His eyes moved to the SUV, then to the boxes stacked in the garage, then back to Darius. "Place like this runs north of $600,000," he said. "Long way from a consulting salary."
"I did fine," Darius said.
Keaton had moved to the rear of the SUV and was checking the plate without being asked. He looked up and gave Rohrer a short shake of his head. "Clean."
Rohrer was quiet for a moment. Then, "Mind if we take a look in the vehicle?"
"On what grounds?" Darius said.
Something shifted in the sergeant's expression, not anger, exactly, something closer to the decision to stop pretending this was a request.
"Just being thorough," Rohrer said.
"That's not a legal basis," Darius said.
Rohrer looked at Bellamy. Bellamy moved first. He stepped to Darius's left and took hold of his arm just above the elbow, not roughly, but with the kind of pressure that made the direction clear.
Rohrer said, "Let's not make this complicated."
Darius did not pull away. He stood still and looked at Rohrer with an expression that gave the sergeant nothing to work with.
"Put him on the hood," Rohrer said.
Bellamy walked Darius to the front of the SUV and pressed him forward against the hood. Darius put his hands flat on the warm metal and looked out at Crestview Drive. A woman two houses down had stopped watering her front garden. A man walking a dog crossed to the other side of the street. No one moved toward the driveway.
Rohrer came around to stand behind him. "Want to tell me what's in the boxes?"
"My belongings," Darius said.