He had been expecting a promotion.
The sheriff had hinted that a supervisory position might become available.
The development company's future security contracts could also provide substantial outside income if properly authorized.
But those opportunities depended on relationships.
And relationships, the associate suggested, required loyalty.
For several seconds, the sergeant stared at the blue pouch.
Then he reached for it.
He told himself he was only gathering information.
That he'd still need to establish lawful grounds for any search or arrest.
That maybe the old man really had taken the watch.
He knew those justifications were weak.
But he accepted them anyway.
And when he left the office, the pouch was in his possession.
By the time he reached the elderly homeowner's driveway, he'd convinced himself that the end would justify the means.
He would create the evidence.
Make the arrest.
And the family would become too frightened or embarrassed to continue challenging the developer.
He didn't know that the man he'd been sent to intimidate had a son who specialized in preserving digital records.
Nor did he know that the driveway cameras had been recording continuously since before his patrol SUV entered the street.
At 1:53 that afternoon, the elderly father returned from a gardening supply store.
He parked the gray pickup beside the garage.
Then carried several small bags of fertilizer and new garden gloves into the house.
He moved slowly.
His doctor had advised him to avoid excessive strain.
He tried to follow that advice.
Although he occasionally forgot that he wasn't thirty years old anymore.
The son was working upstairs.
He had a conference call scheduled for two o'clock.
Before joining it, he looked down from the window and saw his father carrying supplies.
He called out.
"Dad, leave those bags. I'll get them."
The elderly man looked up.
"I'm fine."
The son smiled.
"That's what you always say."
His father laughed.
"Because it's usually true."
He carried another small bag into the kitchen.
Then returned to close the truck.
But before he reached the driveway, the phone rang.
It was his attorney.
She wanted to discuss the easement records.
He answered.
Then walked into the house.
He left the pickup's driver's door slightly ajar.
It was an ordinary mistake.
One he'd made dozens of times.
The truck was parked in his own driveway.
The neighborhood was quiet.