"No."
"Then why did you do it?"
"Because I believe the incident should be documented."
Tyler gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Documented by whom?"
"That is no longer something you need to guess."
The answer was polite.
It was also infuriating.
Tyler turned toward the patrol car and opened the driver's door.
For a moment, David thought he might be retrieving a citation book or a receipt.
Instead, Tyler reached inside and picked up his radio.
"Dispatch, Unit Twelve," he said.
Static crackled through the speaker.
"Go ahead, Unit Twelve."
Tyler glanced at David.
"I have a traffic stop on Route 41. Requesting a supervisor for a potentially uncooperative motorist."
David's eyebrows rose slightly.
Tyler noticed.
"What?" he demanded.
"Nothing."
"You have something to say?"
"I have not been uncooperative."
"That's your opinion."
"It's a matter of what happened."
Tyler turned away from him.
"Dispatch, the subject is refusing to follow instructions and has made an unknown phone call."
The dispatcher responded, "Can you clarify what instruction he refused?"
Tyler hesitated.
"I instructed him to put his phone away."
"Was he interfering with your operation?"
Tyler looked at David again.
The old man stood several feet from the patrol car, hands visible, body relaxed.
"No," Tyler said eventually. "But he was being argumentative."
There was a brief silence over the radio.
"Unit Twelve, a supervisor has been notified. Remain on scene."
Tyler released the button.
He had wanted to establish a record showing that David was difficult. Instead, dispatch had asked a question he could not comfortably answer.
He returned the radio to its holder.
David watched him.
"You understand why I made the call now?" the older man asked.
Tyler's head snapped around.
"Don't lecture me."
"I wasn't."
"You think you're clever."
"No."
"Then stop acting like you know something I don't."
David studied him with an expression that was almost sorrowful.
"I know that you have an opportunity to correct what happened."
Tyler stared at him.
"Correct what?"
"You can return the money. You can document the stop accurately. You can explain what you did and why."
"And if I don't?"
"Then the facts will have to speak for themselves."
Tyler felt a cold sensation move through his stomach.
He hated the phrase.
Facts.
People used it when they believed they possessed evidence. Lawyers used it when they wanted to corner someone. Investigators used it when they had already found the contradiction.
He looked at David's smartphone.
"Did you record me?"
David did not answer immediately.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because if you recorded me, I need to know."
"You need to know whether you were recorded?"
"I'm asking a question."
"And I am asking why it matters."
Tyler clenched his jaw.
David reached into his jacket and held up his phone.
The screen was dark.
"I made a call," he said. "That is all you need to know."
Tyler looked at the phone as though it were a weapon.
Then he noticed something else.
David was not trembling.
He was not breathing heavily.
He was not looking around for help.
He seemed almost disappointed.
That disturbed Tyler more than anger would have.
Anger could be dismissed as emotional. Fear could be exploited. Confusion could be used against someone.
But disappointment suggested that David had expected better.
Tyler looked away.
A black sedan passed them, slowing slightly before returning to the speed limit.
David followed it with his eyes.
"How long have you been on the force?" he asked.
Tyler frowned.
"Why?"
"Four years?"
The officer went still.
David had not seen his name tag closely enough to read it from where he had been standing.
Or so Tyler thought.
"How do you know that?"
"I don't."
"Then why did you say it?"
"A guess."
Tyler studied him.
For the first time, he wondered whether David had been deliberately provoking him from the beginning.
Perhaps the old man was connected to a criminal investigation. Perhaps the cash had been planted. Perhaps the call had gone to a lawyer who would twist every word.
His thoughts raced ahead, building explanations faster than he could evaluate them.
"What is your name?" Tyler demanded.
"David Morgan."
"Full name."
"That is my full name."
"Occupation?"
"Retired."
"Retired from what?"
David looked at him for a moment.
"Public service."
Tyler almost laughed.
"That could mean anything."
"Yes."
"What kind of public service?"
"The kind that teaches you how important accurate records are."
Tyler's stomach tightened again.
He looked at David's face, searching for a clue.
There was nothing obvious. No expensive watch. No polished shoes. No executive car. No visible sign of wealth or influence.
Just an older man in a worn jacket.
Tyler told himself that appearances were meaningless.
Then he remembered that he had judged David by his appearance only twelve minutes earlier.
The realization irritated him.
He pushed it away.
"Stay right there," he ordered.
David nodded.
"Of course."
Tyler returned to the patrol vehicle and sat behind the wheel.
He closed the door, but he did not start the engine.
Instead, he opened the department's incident-reporting application on the onboard computer.
He began entering the details of the stop.
For several minutes, he typed.
Then he deleted the report.
He started again.
This time, he described David as evasive and suspicious. He wrote that the man had displayed an unusual amount of cash and had refused to provide a satisfactory explanation for possessing it.