Through his windshield, he spotted Evelyn. She was a small frame wrapped in a scarf, holding a small black trash bag. She walked slowly, paused, and looked around. To Evelyn, she was simply checking her bearings, trying to remember the path to the dumpster. To Mercer, she looked unsure. She looked out of place.
And that was all it took.
Mercer stepped out of his car, his heavy boots hitting the pavement. His radio crackled at his shoulder.
"Ma'am," he called out. "Hey, stop right there."
Evelyn froze. She turned slowly, her eyes narrowing in confusion beneath her gray hair. "Yes?" she said softly. Or maybe it was, "What?"
He pointed sharply at the black bag. "What's in that?"
She looked down at her hands, then back up at him. "Trash," she answered, or tried to. The word came out soft, tangled, and slurred.
Mercer frowned. "This isn't a dumping area," he stated.
Evelyn blinked, trying to process the uniform, the stance, the accusation. She took a tentative step forward. "I live here," she said, but the sentence didn't finish cleanly in her mind.
He stepped directly into her path, his hand resting near his belt. "Do not move," he said sharply.