A distinct, heavy click echoed from inside the floorboard.
Vance pulled his arm out, holding a heavy black aluminum housing no larger than a hardcover ledger, sealed with four tamper-evident steel bands and a stamped lead rivet. A thick grey ribbon cable dangled from its rear port, its copper pins still dry and bright.
Briggs took half a step forward, his boots splashing into a puddle of runoff. "That's unverified electronic hardware from an uninspected vehicle, Vance. That’s city jurisdiction. You hand that drive over to DPD evidence intake, or I swear to God you’ll be answering a formal misconduct petition before your shift ends."
"This drive was recovered during an active officer distress signal," Vance said, rising to his full height. He turned the heavy black case over in his hands, pointing his flashlight at the stamped aluminum faceplate. "Fleet telemetry, model seven-forty. Continuous circular write. It logs directly to solid-state memory."
"It’s private property," Briggs spat, his veneer of casual authority finally cracking open to reveal the raw, desperate panic underneath. "You don't have a signed warrant to pull components from that chassis."
"I don't need a warrant to preserve physical evidence from an active crime scene where an assault occurred in plain view of responding units," Vance said coldly. He looked past Briggs toward the mouth of the alley, where a third vehicle had just rounded the corner from St. Antoine—a slick-top black Ford Explorer bearing the discreet gold seal of the Wayne County Prosecutor’s Special Operations Division.
The Explorer didn't hit its sirens. It crept slowly down the brick corridor, its tires crunching over the gravel until its bumper came to rest two feet behind Hollis's interceptor.
A tall woman in a dark charcoal wool coat stepped out into the mist, holding a thick leather portfolio under one arm. Her hair was pulled back tight against the wind, her face pale, severe, and entirely devoid of expression.
"Trooper Vance," she said, her voice cutting through the alley without being raised. "Report."
"Investigator Mercer," Vance replied, coming to attention but keeping the black aluminum unit tucked against his ribs. "Commercial distress call routed through MSP Dispatch. Upon arrival, we found Officer Briggs attempting an administrative tow of this vehicle. Complainant Arthur Cole alleges Briggs seized three thousand dollars in personal cash from his shop counter before initiating the hook."
Briggs stepped toward her, his hand reaching out in an easy, familiar gesture of professional camaraderie. "Karen, thank God. Look, these state boys don't know the local code. The subject was running an unpermitted shop on an easement. The cash was unlogged inventory. I took temporary custody under municipal code forty-two. I’ve already written the voucher."
Investigator Mercer didn't take the hand. She didn't look at the citation pad Briggs was offering. She walked past him, her leather heels clicking sharp on the damp concrete as she crossed the yellow chalk line and stopped directly in front of me.
She looked at the blood on my knuckles, then down at the steel ratchets locked around my wrists.
"Unlock him, Trooper," she said quietly.
Vance stepped forward immediately, his key sliding into the cuffs. The pressure released with a dull click, and my hands dropped to my sides, the blood rushing back into my numb fingers with a violent, stinging heat. I rubbed my wrists, my breath shuddering out into the grey air.
"Mr. Cole," Mercer said, her eyes fixed on my face. "Three weeks ago, you filed a formal complaint with the county ethics board regarding salvage title kickbacks at the Third Precinct impound lot. You claimed an officer named Briggs was intercepting private restoration projects before the statutory notice period expired."
"I did," I said, my voice hoarse. "He took a sixty-seven Chevelle from the body shop on Gratiot the same way. Said the VIN plate was tampered with, towed it before the owner got back from lunch, and it showed up stripped at an auction in Romulus four days later."