Among the reasons I refer to Maryland authorities as the Staasi

is garbage like this:
Ten minutes later he’s back, and he wants John out of the Expedition. Retreating to the space between the SUV and the unmarked car, the officer orders John to hook his thumbs behind his back and spread his feet. “You own a gun,” the officer says. “Where is it?”

“At home in my safe,” John answers.

“Don’t move,” says the officer.

Now he’s at the passenger’s window. “Your husband owns a gun,” he says. “Where is it?”
Which leads to another demonstration of "Do not talk to the Staasipolice", though it probably didn't matter: asshole with badge would've found SOMETHING to claim gave him the privilege of searching the car and so forth.

Of course, John couldn’t show him what didn’t exist, but Kally’s failure to corroborate John’s account, the officer would tell them later, was the probable cause that allowed him to summon backup — three marked cars joined the lineup along the I-95 shoulder — and empty the Expedition of riders, luggage, Christmas gifts, laundry bags; to pat down Kally and Yianni; to explore the engine compartment and probe inside door panels; and to separate and isolate the Filippidises in the back seats of the patrol cars.

Ninety minutes later, or maybe it was two hours — “It felt like forever,” Kally says — no weapon found and their possessions repacked, the episode ended ... with the officer writing out a warning.
A warning. 
A WARNING.  Because 'The must be some official paperwork to account for our time!'.

I have to note I've heard of this same kind of crap before from people with Oklahoma or Texas plates travelling through the PROM, Massachusetts as well:
"Where's the guns?"
"I don't have any guns."
"You assholes from Texas and Oklahoma always have a gun, so where is it?"

I repeat, you could not pay men enough to live there, and despite the sites of historical interest I'll never put a penny into the purse of those Dark and Fascist States.