Frank felt resistance through his machinery and immediately attempted to halt the operation. The recovery arm was already carrying strain it had not been intended to bear, and a component failed with a tremendous metallic crack. Hydraulic fluid spilled across the road, the tow truck lurched, and several electrical displays went dark as its control system shut down. Frank jumped clear, stumbled backward, and caught himself against a parked delivery vehicle.
For three seconds, nobody spoke. The Suburban remained motionless, its engine silent now, its lights briefly flashing as onboard warning systems completed a response Toby could not see from the patrol car. The tow truck sat at an awkward angle, disabled by the failed recovery attempt and bleeding fluid onto the pavement. It was not the controlled, ordinary impound Kirby had promised.
"Everybody back," Frank shouted. "Get away from the equipment."
Mateo took several steps toward the storefront and told a woman pushing a stroller to move away from the spill. Frank looked down at his gloved hands, checking for injury, then at the truck whose purchase loan he had only recently finished paying off. The worst of the noise had passed, but his pulse was loud enough that he could hear it over traffic from the next block.
Kirby came around the front of his cruiser with his flashlight still in his hand. He stared at the Suburban, then at the towing apparatus, and finally at Frank as though the driver had deliberately caused the embarrassment. "What did you do to it?"
"I told you something was wrong with that vehicle," Frank said. "Your sheet said conventional tow. That is not a conventional tow."
"You broke your own truck."
"I stopped when it didn't move. Whatever happened after that, my equipment is finished. And that vehicle needs someone who actually knows what it is."
Kirby looked into the back of his cruiser. Toby was watching him through the window, expression composed but eyes attentive. The officer had expected frustration, pleading, or maybe a satisfied smile from the detained driver. He found none of those things.
"You got something to say?" Kirby demanded.
"Yes," Toby answered. "You need to secure the area and contact your department's federal liaison immediately. Stop trying to handle this as an ordinary impound."
"You planned this," Kirby said. "You rigged that thing."
"You were warned that the vehicle required specialized authorization. You can still make the next decision properly."
Kirby swung around and shouted into his radio for assistance. His report began with a disabled tow truck and a "suspicious modified vehicle," but as he spoke, he stumbled over how to explain why he had ordered the tow in the first place. He described a possible security hazard and requested a supervisor without saying that dispatch had already offered federal verification. The omission lasted only as long as it took Mara Ellis to look at the earlier messages on her screen.
"Officer Kirby, for the record, were you able to confirm the federal exemption status?" she asked.
"Negative. Possible fraud."
"I have your earlier response declining an interagency inquiry. I can initiate that now."
Kirby glanced toward the growing crowd on the sidewalk. "Do whatever you need to do," he said sharply.