“You handcuffed your own commander?” someone demanded after a tense roadside stop in the rain. What seemed like a routine incident quickly unraveled, and the mistake ended up destroying the careers of two officers involved.

“What’s going on?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

“You match the description of a suspect,” he replied.

That line again. I’d heard it before, in different cities, in different contexts. It was always vague enough to justify almost anything.

“What description?” I asked.

“Male,” he said. “Black. Medium build. Dark clothing.”