“Sarge, maybe we get a supervisor out.”
Mercer rounded on him.
“You want to supervise me now?”
“No.”
“Then search under the seats.”
Danner obeyed.
Marcus watched Mercer grow more destructive.
The man was no longer searching intelligently.
He was trying to prove himself right.
That was more dangerous.
A person who believed evidence existed somewhere could eventually accept that it did not.
A person who needed evidence to justify his own conduct might destroy everything looking for it.
Mercer tore away another trim panel.
Then removed floor mats.
He opened the glove compartment.
Registration.
Insurance.
Government fleet documentation.
He stared directly at the government registration form.
Marcus saw recognition.
Mercer folded it once.
Dropped it.
“This enough for you?” Marcus asked.
Mercer looked at him.
“Anybody can print paperwork.”
“Run the VIN.”
Mercer ignored him.
“Call federal motor pool.”
Silence.
“Call your supervisor.”
Mercer stepped toward him.
“You really want to tell me how to do my job?”
“No.”
Marcus’s voice was low.
“I want you to stop making yours harder.”
Mercer’s expression darkened.
He returned to the search.
Danner was now on one knee beside the driver’s seat.
He reached beneath it.
Stopped.
“Sarge.”
Mercer turned.