That was when Ruth Okapor shouted from behind the fence.
And the encounter took its most dangerous turn.
Ruth would later tell investigators that she had heard the first raised voices while watering plants on her porch.
She was fifty-four years old, a registered nurse who had recently reduced her hospital hours after more than two decades of emergency department work. Her modest house sat beside a service road overlooking the highway, where drivers occasionally stopped because of mechanical problems or accidents.
She had seen patrol cars make traffic stops before.
She had even called for assistance when vehicles broke down near the curve.
But she'd never seen an officer drag a woman out of a car without allowing her to finish removing her seat belt.
When Garrett forced me onto the pavement, Ruth went inside and retrieved her phone.
By the time she returned, Miles was already arguing with his partner.
She began recording.
At first, she said nothing.
She wanted the camera to capture what was happening without giving Garrett a reason to turn his attention toward her.
Then he started smashing the car.
She couldn't remain silent.
"HEY! I'M RECORDING YOU!"
Garrett turned toward her.
"Put that phone down!"
Ruth kept recording.
"You've got her handcuffed! Why are you breaking her car?"
"Get back inside!"
"I'm on my property!"
Garrett moved toward the fence.
My pulse accelerated.
"Deputy," I said, "please leave her alone."
He turned toward me.
Then back toward Ruth.
"One more word, and I'll arrest both of you!"
Ruth didn't move.
Her hand was shaking, but her phone remained pointed toward us.
Then Garrett reached toward his holster.
I stopped breathing for a moment.
There are situations when arguing about rights can make an already unstable person more dangerous. I understood that, and I could see Garrett was no longer responding proportionately to anything happening around him.
So I spoke quietly.
"Deputy, she is unarmed. Please keep your weapon secured."
He looked toward me.
His face twisted.
"You threatening me?"
"No."
He stepped closer.
"Then shut your mouth."
Behind him, Miles moved toward the patrol SUV.
He had been documenting the stop through his body camera and had already made notes about the lack of an apparent traffic violation. But there was something else he knew that neither Garrett nor I understood at that moment.
Earlier that day, he had received a message from a state investigator.
The message was not a secret instruction to confront Garrett or engineer an arrest.
It was a warning to preserve records relating to a broader investigation into questionable seizures and towing practices in the county.
Miles had been cooperating with investigators for almost six weeks.
He hadn't planned to reveal that cooperation during an ordinary patrol shift.