“Give me your identification,” Doyle ordered.
Camille kept her hands entirely visible. “What crime do you suspect me of committing? There is no active investigation unless someone reported a specific crime.”
Doyle moved close enough that the bitter scent of stale coffee radiated from her breath. “You are making this much more difficult than it needs to be.”
“No,” Camille replied evenly. “I am asking you to follow the law.”
Neighbors were beginning to notice. A curtain twitched. A man watering his pristine lawn dropped his hose to watch. Another resident stepped onto her porch, discreetly holding her phone to her chest.
Feeling the weight of an audience, Doyle’s aggression spiked. “Put your hands behind your back.”
“For what?” Camille did not flinch.
“Obstructing an investigation. Turn around.”
Camille locked eyes with the officer. “Before you touch me, state clearly for your camera what crime you believe occurred.”
Doyle lunged, grabbing Camille’s left wrist. Knowing any sudden movement would be weaponized against her, Camille allowed Doyle to wrench her arm behind her back.
“I am not resisting. I am standing still,” Camille stated, her voice a steady anchor in the escalating chaos.
Doyle clamped the cold steel cuffs down so violently that the metal bit hard into the bones of Camille's wrists. Across the street, the man with the hose raised his phone, recording openly.
“Go back inside!” Doyle barked at him.
“I’m on my own property,” the man shot back. “You’re arresting a woman for walking.”
“Keep interfering and you can join her,” Doyle snapped, turning back to her prisoner.
“Your name is Megan Doyle, badge 286?” Camille asked loudly, ensuring the camera captured it. “I want the record to be accurate.”
Ignoring the implied warning, Doyle seized Camille’s leather shoulder bag. Without consent, she ripped it open, pulling out a tablet, a notebook, two sealed envelopes, and a thick blue folder bearing the embossed gold seal of the North Carolina Department of Justice.