"Officer Maddox," he said, loud enough for all the cameras, "you now possess verifiable credentials. You have been informed of our identities. Continued detention will be documented as a conscious choice."
"Save it for the judge," Maddox replied.
That was exactly where his choices would eventually be examined.
Walsh drove. He had switched the cruiser's rear camera to record before opening the doors, partly because procedure required it and partly because the scene at the roadside had frightened him. Dominic and Nyla sat behind the yellowed partition, handcuffed, with knees and shoulders pressed into the hard boundaries of a space built to hold people smaller than Dominic.
The seat smelled of disinfectant, old vinyl, and heat. A fleck of chewing gum was caught beneath the edge of the window. Somebody had scratched a pair of initials into the plastic barrier. Through the scratched glass, Walsh looked like a man trying to remember instructions he had once understood.
They passed a shuttered gas station. Then a school playing field with bleachers bleached silver by the sun. A row of small houses appeared, each with a narrow front porch and a patch of dry grass. Dominic studied them and thought about how many families lived within sight of patrol routes controlled by Maddox and Reeve.
Nyla sat beside him, quiet but alert. The handcuffs had been fitted tightly enough to leave her fingers tingling. She shifted her wrists carefully, keeping the metal from cutting deeper.
"Are you hurt?" Dominic asked her.
"Not seriously. You?"
"Ankle. Nothing broken."
Walsh glanced in the mirror. "You two need to stop talking."
"We're checking for injuries," Nyla said. "That's something you should have done."
"Rhett says the IDs are fake."
"Then call the FBI," Dominic replied. "Use the station phone if you're worried about a number we provide. It takes one call to confirm."
Walsh gripped the wheel more tightly. "He wouldn't do this if he wasn't sure."
Dominic considered the young man's reflection. "Is that what you actually believe, Officer Walsh? Or is that what you need to believe because you already put the handcuffs on us?"
For a moment Walsh did not answer. The cruiser passed a billboard promising fast cash loans. A child on a bicycle rode along a driveway and watched the police car pass.
"I follow orders," Walsh said finally.