Ruth followed my gaze.
"That man's dangerous."
I nodded.
"Yes."
She looked toward me.
"Did you really say you're a federal agent?"
"I did."
"Army?"
"Army CID."
She shook her head.
"My goodness."
I turned toward her.
"But listen to me. What he did would still be wrong if I were a schoolteacher, a waitress, or somebody driving a ten-year-old sedan."
Ruth looked directly at me.
"Exactly."
For a moment, we simply held each other's gaze.
Then she sat beside me.
"I've seen him before."
My attention sharpened.
"Garrett?"
She nodded.
"Three weeks ago. Same highway."
"What happened?"
"He stopped a young man driving a sports car. Said the boy looked suspicious. Had the vehicle towed even after the driver's mother arrived with registration papers."
I studied her.
"Did you see the whole stop?"
"Most of it."
"Did you record?"
She nodded.
"Some."
My heartbeat quickened.
"Do you still have the video?"
Ruth looked offended.
"Of course I do."
I almost smiled.
She continued.
"I've been a nurse long enough to know what happens when people don't document things."
She glanced toward Miles.
"And I've seen too many folks get told their own eyes were wrong."
The younger deputy had heard her.
He turned toward us.
For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something.
Then he looked toward Garrett.
I noticed the hesitation.
"Miles."
He approached.
"Yes?"
"Did you know about the previous stop?"
His face changed.
Ruth watched him.
He swallowed.
"I've heard complaints."
"About Garrett?"
He nodded.
"About several deputies."
I waited.
He looked toward his body camera.
Then back at me.
"I can't discuss an ongoing matter here."
The answer was careful.
Too careful for a man who had supposedly only been a patrol deputy for several months.
I studied him.
"Are you preserving today's footage?"
"Yes."
"Was the camera active when Garrett pulled me from the vehicle?"
He nodded.
"It was."
"Did you document the registration results?"
"Yes."
I took a breath.
"Then make sure all of it reaches independent investigators."
He held my gaze.
"It will."
There was something in the way he answered.
No hesitation.
No attempt to reassure me with a meaningless promise.
Just a quiet certainty.
Later, I would discover why.
At 3:01 p.m., the first state patrol vehicle arrived.
A dark blue SUV approached from the east, followed less than a minute later by a second marked vehicle. Two troopers stepped out, surveyed the damaged Rolls-Royce, and immediately separated Garrett from Miles.
One approached the porch.
She was a Black woman in her early forties, with her hair neatly pulled back beneath her campaign hat. Her name was Lieutenant Adrienne Brooks, and she had spent eighteen years investigating traffic incidents, officer misconduct complaints, and complex collisions.