"I wasn't asking for your permission."
"Then please identify the legal grounds."
"Your suspicious conduct. Possible stolen property. This vehicle matches something we've been looking for."
"What description?"
Mercer didn't answer. The neighborhood was quiet enough for Simone to hear a wind chime tapping against a nearby porch railing. Across the street, a woman with a grocery bag paused at her front steps and watched without coming closer.
"Keller," Mercer said. "Get the entry kit."
Price stepped forward. "Sheriff, can we slow this down a moment? We can check the actual bulletin, or call the duty prosecutor."
"I didn't ask for advice."
"Yes, sir. I just don't know what probable cause we've got for forcing a locked hatch."
Mercer's expression darkened. "You can let me do my job or you can write reports until you retire. Your choice."
Price stopped, but he did not reach for the door or the tool. His body camera continued recording.
Keller went to his cruiser and returned with a compact vehicle-entry kit. He held it in both hands as though its weight had changed. Simone could see the tension in his jaw. He looked at Mercer and said, "You sure about this?"
The sheriff leaned close enough for only Keller and perhaps Price's microphone to hear. "Open the damn thing. We need to know what she got."
Simone made certain her voice was audible. "Sheriff Mercer, I am expressly refusing consent to a search of this vehicle. I am not resisting. I am requesting that you obtain a warrant or identify a lawful exception supported by facts."
Mercer pointed toward the curb. "Stay right there."
Keller placed the tool against the damaged edge of the rear latch assembly. The first attempt produced a metallic scrape. On the second, the trim shifted. Price said, "Sheriff, please," but the noise of the tool drowned out the rest. Mercer pulled upward while Keller worked the mechanism, and suddenly the latch gave with a sharp crack.
The liftgate rose slowly on its struts. Sunlight crossed the protective rack inside. The black field coat swayed slightly, turning until its yellow lettering faced the sheriff.
FBI.
For several seconds no one spoke. The letters were large enough for Price to read from the side of the road. Beneath the coat, an official identification wallet sat in a secured holder, the edge of a federal shield visible behind clear plastic. A drone case occupied the center compartment. Evidence containers bore custody seals and case numbers, and the clipped photograph showed Keller beside Frank Talbot at a warehouse door after midnight.
Mercer stared at the coat. Then he saw the photograph. His face went pale so quickly that Simone could almost see the instant when surprise became calculation.
Keller had gone perfectly still. Price looked from the evidence cases to the woman standing beside the vehicle.
"Oh, man," Price whispered.
Simone walked no closer than necessary. "Sheriff, nobody is to touch the contents of that cargo area."
Mercer reached toward the identification wallet. She spoke again, and this time there was no softness in her voice.
"Take your hand back. Now."