The deputies drove away. Gallagher stared straight ahead until the Tahoe disappeared in the side mirror. Hollister sounded pleased with himself, telling the younger man that two thousand dollars was a respectable day's work and that people who protested usually disappeared as soon as the paperwork became inconvenient. Gallagher did not answer. He was thinking about the bank slip and the words he had written on the form.
Byron stood beside his vehicle for several seconds before getting inside. His legs ached from the gravel, and his shirt was damp under the arms. He closed the door and waited for the air-conditioning to cool the cabin, then picked up the phone and counted eleven missed calls. Several were from his transition office. One was from Sharon, and another came from a number used by the federal protective liaison assigned to his appointment preparations.
He called Sharon first. "I'm safe," he said as soon as she answered. He heard her exhale and could imagine the look she wore when trying not to sound worried. He gave her the shortest honest version: an improper stop, a search he had not agreed to, money taken, and an officer whose behavior raised serious concerns. He promised to explain more once he reached a safe place.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
"No lasting injury," Byron replied. "But I'm not going to pretend it was nothing."
After that, he called the liaison. This conversation was shorter and more deliberate. He gave the location, time, names, vehicle details, and the exact amount taken. He stressed that the concern was not merely a mistake made with a prominent person's property. He had reason to believe the officers' actions reflected a practice that might have affected other drivers for years.
"Don't let anyone turn this into a favor for me," Byron said. "Preserve the evidence. Find out whether other people were treated the same way. And make sure the review is handled by people whose judgment doesn't depend on my title."
The liaison said the Department of Justice's ethics officials would be consulted immediately. Byron had been confirmed to his new position but had not yet formally taken office. He understood that an investigation touching his own rights and an agency he was about to lead would require careful separation between him and the people responsible for deciding what to do. He did not order an arrest or demand that an officer be fired. He asked that the facts be preserved and evaluated under the same rules that should have protected any driver.
At the sheriff's office, Hollister parked and stopped in the hallway to tell a joke about the federal-looking Tahoe. A desk deputy laughed because Hollister expected people to laugh. By the time the sergeant reached the coffee machine, however, the county attorney's office had received a call asking it to preserve all records connected with a stop at mile marker 113. Minutes later, the sheriff's personal phone began ringing.
Sheriff Dwight Coleman was eating a pulled-pork sandwich at his desk when he saw that the call came from the state attorney general's office. He answered with the cheerful confidence of a man who expected an invitation, a campaign inquiry, or a question about budget numbers. The voice at the other end sounded neither cheerful nor patient. It asked whether a member of his department had searched a vehicle belonging to the United States Department of Justice and seized money from its driver that afternoon.