Lennox waited. The captain took the silence as permission to continue. He spoke about officers who worked overtime without complaint, about relatives who lied to protect one another, and about the impossibility of making a small sheriff's office perfect. A complaint system, he argued, could collapse if every angry driver's version of events received equal standing with a trained deputy's.
"The problem isn't whether you believe every complaint," Lennox said. "The problem is whether you investigate them before you decide."
"We did investigate."
"Then the records should show that."
Puit looked at Renata. "People in this county will say anything if they think it will get them out of a ticket."
"And sometimes an officer will say anything to avoid the consequences of a bad stop," Lennox replied. "That's why we preserve evidence. It protects honest officers too."
The captain leaned forward. "You could have ended this on the highway by telling Wade who you were. You knew you were about to take over. You let it continue because you wanted to see how far we'd go."
Lennox felt the accusation settle. It touched something he had already argued about with himself, and he would not dismiss it simply because Puit used it as a defense. He had possessed information that might have shortened the detention. He had chosen not to use it while the evidence was being gathered, and other people had experienced consequences from that choice.
"You are right that I could have identified myself sooner," Lennox said. "That is a decision I'll have to explain, and I'm willing to do it. But it doesn't explain why your deputy destroyed a compliant driver's property, or why a report omitted the timing of an ownership check, or why evidence was altered after it reached this building. Those decisions belong to the people who made them."
"You think you can fix all this with cameras and new paperwork?"
"No. Cameras record what people do. Paperwork can preserve it or conceal it. Neither one makes an officer decent. We have to change what happens when the facts contradict the badge."
Puit looked down at his hands. His fingers were broad, with a small white scar across one knuckle. Thirty-five years of rank had taught him to equate being obeyed with being right, and he could not separate the two while sitting across from a man who now held greater authority. He seemed to be searching for a sentence that would restore the old order of things.
"You have no idea what you're taking on," he said.
"I have an idea. I spent tonight inside it."
Renata asked Puit whether he wished to make a factual statement about his access to the evidence room or his review of the camera. He declined to answer without counsel, which was his right. He did not apologize. He did not admit removing documents. When the interview ended at four twenty-two, he left with none of the victory he had expected from speaking privately to a new superior.
Lennox remained seated for a moment after the captain departed. Renata closed her notebook and asked whether he wanted to supplement his earlier statement. He told her about the moment he considered revealing his appointment because he wanted to reach Miles's basketball game. He had already disclosed the decision in general terms, but now he explained what it had felt like to weigh his son's disappointment against the possibility that the department would behave differently once the title was known.