Miller didn't contradict me. He looked at Mercer, then down at the blue diode pulsing behind the Pontiac's dashboard.
"Mercer," Miller said. "Did you log the carrier frequency?"
"Yes, sir," Mercer replied, his hand finally releasing the radio mic. "The telemetry channel linked into the school district’s server at twenty-one zero-four. The entire exchange between Vance and Cole was routed through the Miller Mountain repeater. It’s sitting in the district night log right now."
Vance swung around, his face suddenly mottled red beneath the spotlight glare. "You turned your back on the department, Mercer! You think the district board is going to protect a probationary deputy who files a false carrier report against his field trainer?"
"He didn't file it, Vance," Miller said. The lieutenant took two steps forward, his boots sinking into the saturated gravel. He reached out and wrapped his thick fingers around the top of the pry bar in Vance’s hand. "The machine filed it. Now let go of the iron."
Vance held on for one second longer, his knuckles white against the dark metal. For an instant, with the red emergency strobes cutting across his face, he looked ready to swing. But Miller didn't flinch, and Mercer’s hand remained rested firmly on his open holster.
Slowly, his fingers trembling with cold and fury, Vance released the crowbar. Miller took it, tossed it into the back of his own cruiser with a hollow clatter, and pointed toward the rear passenger seat of Mercer’s unit.
"Sit in the car, Vance," Miller said.
"Miller, you can't—"
"Get in the car before I take your belt off your waist on the shoulder of this road," Miller said, his tone dropping into a hard, final snap. "The district attorney is already at the municipal annex with the state auditors. Your brother is in zip-ties on the pump house floor, and Pete’s flatbed is currently impounded by the state police. You’re done working this ridge."
Vance stared at the lieutenant, then at Mercer, and finally at me. His mouth worked, but no words came out. He turned with stiff, jerky steps, yanked the rear door of Mercer’s patrol cruiser open, and climbed into the vinyl seat. The heavy door shut with a solid, echoing thud, sealing him behind the metal security partition.
Miller stood in the rain for a moment, listening to the sweep of the wind through the pines. He reached into his pocket, pulled out an old handkerchief, and wiped the moisture from his temples before turning back to the Pontiac.
"Your vocational kids put that together?" Miller asked, nodding toward the dashboard.
"The electronics advanced team," I said. "They wanted to prove that public school shops could handle modern industrial telemetry on vintage transport frames."
Miller walked over to the open driver's door, peered through the shattered plastic trim, and let out a dry, low chuckle that carried no humor. "Well, they proved it. The county communications supervisor called my car five minutes ago asking why a high school server was transmitting an active extortion threat from my own patrol zone."
He looked at the torn quarter panel, the dented bumper, and the sheared trunk hinge hanging by a single strip of distorted metal.
"You can't drive this on the highway tonight, Cole," Miller said reasonably. "The rear deck is loose, and if the wind catches that lid on the downgrade, it'll take your back glass out."
"I’m not calling Pete," I said.
"Pete’s out of business," Miller replied. "I’ll have the county service wrecker from the central yard hook it by the front suspension and drop it in your personal driveway. No impound paper, no administrative hold. I’ll sign the tow authorization myself."
"And the damage?" I asked.
Miller sighed, his breath curling white into the rain. "Take plenty of photographs before the flatbed hooks it. The county risk management office will have a claim packet on your desk by Tuesday morning. And when the grand jury convenes next month, you’ll be on the witness stand explaining how that circuit board operates."
"I'll be there," I said.
Mercer walked around the front of his car, his coat soaked through. He stopped three feet from where I stood, looking down at his boots before meeting my eyes.