He crossed the safety boundary after identifying himself, then stopped briefly when he saw Frank Mercer's disabled truck. Frank was sitting beside a medic, holding a paper cup of water in both hands. Holt recognized the company's logo and felt a new kind of anger. The consequences of Kirby's decision had already moved beyond a dispute between a policeman and a driver.
Webb met him near the front of the patrol cruiser. Their handshake was short, their voices controlled. Neither man wanted the growing crowd to hear operational details, but both understood that the civilian witnesses and the officers on the street needed to see an orderly transfer of responsibility.
"Chief Holt," Webb said. "I appreciate you coming personally."
"I appreciate the call," Holt answered. "Is anyone hurt?"
"Minor restraint complaints from our specialist. The tow driver is being evaluated. There has been significant property damage, but no confirmed serious injury."
Holt looked at Kirby. "And the federal status?"
"Verified. The vehicle, credentials, and authorized position are legitimate. The recorded local plate inquiry reflected that status before the detention."
Holt closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he was looking not at Webb but at the ground beside the cruiser. He remembered the memorandum Devon Pike had written the previous year, the one he had sent back to a lieutenant for further review and eventually let close without an interview of the driver involved. He could not yet know whether earlier action would have prevented this day, but he knew he would have to answer the question.
"What do you need from us?" he asked.
"Preservation of all related records and cooperation with independent investigators. You retain responsibility for your officer's immediate administrative status. Federal prosecutors will make their own decisions after reviewing the evidence."
Holt nodded. "Understood."
"I also need Officer Kirby relieved of his weapon and assignment while the review begins. Our personnel will remain responsible for the federal asset and the protective operation."
Holt glanced toward the crowd, then back at Webb. "I'll handle the department side."
He approached Kirby slowly. The two men had known each other for eleven years, and Holt had attended Kirby's father's funeral. He had seen the officer bring birthday cake into the station for a dispatcher and had received letters praising Kirby for helping elderly residents during winter storms. None of those memories changed the evidence of what had happened that afternoon.
"Nick," Holt said.
"Chief, I can explain. The plates didn't look right, and the guy kept telling me he was federal. How was I supposed to know?"
"The computer told you there was a federal exemption. Dispatch offered to verify it."
"I thought it was a fake."
"Thinking something doesn't excuse refusing to check it."
Kirby shifted his weight. "You know I've had good stops. You know I've done this job for years."
"I do," Holt answered. "And that's exactly why I expect you to understand the difference between a suspicion and a fact."
"Chief, don't let them take me over a parking violation."
Holt looked at the disabled tow truck, the waiting agents, and Toby standing beside a medical officer. "This stopped being about a parking violation when you arrested a man after the evidence contradicted your suspicion and tried to remove a vehicle you were warned not to touch."