The sheriff leaned closer.
“Keep talking.”
Karen didn't answer.
She could see that he wanted a reaction.
Something angry.
Something impulsive.
Something he could later describe as threatening or noncompliant.
She refused to give him one.
Instead, she asked quietly, “Is your body camera recording?”
Halverson looked toward the small device mounted on his uniform.
“Yes, ma'am.”
Kavalik shot him a furious glance.
Then answered for himself.
“We document what we need to document.”
Karen noted the distinction.
She knew better than to assume the sheriff's equipment was functioning properly merely because he wore it.
Then another sound reached her.
A diesel engine.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming from the far intersection.
She turned her head.
A black tow truck was approaching.
It carried the name Blackridge Recovery on its doors.
Its amber lights were already flashing.
For a moment, Karen stared.
Then she looked at Kavalik.
“Sheriff, why is a tow truck here?”
He didn't answer.
The truck slowed.
Then turned onto the shoulder behind the patrol SUV.
Its driver looked directly toward the red Ducati.
Karen felt the entire encounter shift.
She had been stopped only minutes earlier.
No citation had been issued.
No arrest charge had been stated.
And no one had established that her motorcycle needed to be removed.
Yet a tow truck had arrived prepared to take it.
“Did you call them before you stopped me?” she asked.
Kavalik's expression changed.
Only slightly.
But she saw it.
“That's none of your concern.”
Karen looked toward the tow truck.
Then back at the sheriff.
“It's my motorcycle. Whether you've arranged to seize it is absolutely my concern.”
The tow driver climbed down.
He was a stocky man in his thirties wearing an orange work vest and a baseball cap.
He glanced toward Kavalik.
“Got the red sport bike?”
Karen stared.
The words hung in the air.
The red sport bike.
Not a vehicle requiring removal.
Not the motorcycle involved in a traffic stop.
The red sport bike.
As though the driver had been told what he would be collecting before he arrived.
Kavalik's face hardened.
“Get your equipment ready.”
Karen felt cold despite the sunshine.
She looked toward Halverson.
“Deputy, I want the dispatch time for that tow truck preserved.”
The younger officer hesitated.
Kavalik snapped.
“Don't answer her.”
But Karen had already seen enough to know the stop was becoming something far more serious.
Then Halverson's shoulder radio crackled.
“Unit Twelve, confirm subject identification.”
He reached toward the microphone.