Toiver's expression hardened. "Your kind always thinks you know better."
Lennox wanted to ask whose road the deputy believed it was and who had given him the authority to decide who belonged on it. He did not ask. He had promised himself when he accepted the appointment that his department would learn to distinguish an officer's irritation from any actual threat to public safety, and here he was watching that distinction collapse in front of him.
The baton came out. The first blow was so sudden that even Toiver seemed surprised by the violence of the sound. There was no struggle, no attempt to flee, no hand reaching for a weapon. There was simply a deputy standing beside a compliant motorist and deciding to break the car because the man would not agree that the deputy could search it.
A second cruiser approached as Toiver rounded the hood. Deputy Cara Beckett pulled over behind him, angled her vehicle to give passing traffic a little room, and stepped out with her hand resting near her radio. At twenty-seven, she had two years of patrol experience and enough humility to know that two years did not teach a person everything. She had been dispatched to assist with an administrative plate check, not a violent confrontation.
From her cruiser she had already run the registration. The returned record showed a valid plate, an owner matching the driver Lennox Hargrove, and current insurance. She had also checked for a stolen-vehicle report and an outstanding wanted-person alert, both negative. Now she saw Toiver swinging a baton at the rear glass while the driver stood several feet away with his hands open.
"Wade!" she called.
He did not stop. Another window broke, scattering fragments across the rear seat. Cara walked closer but kept enough distance to avoid escalating the encounter physically. She understood that being the junior deputy did not cancel her responsibility to speak when something plainly wrong was happening.
"The registration is clean," she said. "It belongs to him. Insurance matches, and there's no stolen-car report."
"I heard you, Beckett. Go stand by your unit."
"There isn't a reason to keep breaking it."
Toiver turned toward her for the first time. "You want to handle the scene?"
She had answered questions like that in training. They were never questions about the scene; they were questions about allegiance. Behind him, Lennox stood still enough to appear almost detached from the ruined vehicle, and Cara suddenly understood how that stillness might be misread by anyone who preferred not to see what the deputy was doing.
"I'm confirming what the system says," she answered. "It is a valid registration."
Toiver returned his attention to the Bentley. He reached through the opening where the driver's window had been and began searching the compartments, ignoring Lennox's repeated statement that he did not consent. He pulled out a charging cable, a pair of reading glasses, fuel receipts, and a church bulletin from that morning. Each ordinary object seemed to aggravate him further because none of them justified his assumptions.