Reynolds spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dirt and walked past them toward the cast-iron box. He pulled a heavy ring of brass keys from his pocket and knelt beside the rusted lid, his breath pluming in the crisp air as he searched for the right key.
Inspector Walter Reynolds rolled an insulated multimeter lead between his thumb and thick fingers. His voice sounded like gravel in a cement mixer.
"Open it up, son," Reynolds said.
Mark Benson stood beside the rusted cast-iron box near the old ranch line. His keys rattled against the padlock because his hands shook. He dropped the brass key twice into the caliche dust before picking it up.
"It is just standard easement maintenance," Mark said.
Gabriel Ortega tapped a clipboard with his thumbnail. Thomas Reed rubbed his safety glasses against his denim shirt tail, watching the trembling padlock turn.
The heavy steel door swung outward with a dry screech of rusted hinges.
Inside, the compartment held no telecom lines or sprinkler relays. A clean array of secondary circuit breakers sat mounted to an insulated bakelite board. Thick red and black cables vanished through a PVC conduit running underground toward the southern subdivision loop.
Reynolds leaned closer, squinting against the late afternoon sun. He reached out with a gloved hand and touched a strip of masking material adhered to the terminal block.
"Look at this labeling," Reynolds said.
He peeled off a piece of blue painter's tape stuck directly across the main distribution rail. Written in black permanent marker were seven specific house numbers corresponding to residences on the western loop.
"That is private property distribution," Reynolds said. "You have unmetered load running off an undocumented secondary feed."
Mark stepped backward until his heels hit the rear bumper of his truck. He rubbed his grease-free palms against his thighs.
"The board approved a bypass during the winter supply crisis," Mark whispered.
Thomas did not raise his voice. He slipped his safety glasses back over his ears.
"Show me the county permit for that sub-panel," Thomas said.
Reynolds pulled a thick pad of violation notices from his back pocket and clicked a ballpoint pen. He did not look up from the open box.
"There is no permit on file for this span," Reynolds said. "I need the paperwork authorizing this interconnection right now."
Reynolds held out a square, thick palm.
Mark Benson dropped his keys into the red dust with a dull clink.
"Open the lock, Mark," Reynolds said.