Edson stepped around from behind and came in fast from her left, his forearm catching her shoulder from the side with enough force to rock her sideways. Her knee hit the running board of the Explorer. She did not fall. She put her hand on the side of the car and steadied herself. Turned back to face them. “And that contact will also be visible on the station camera,” she said. “Timestamp approximately 3:43.”
Edson grabbed her left arm. Beaumont grabbed her right. They walked her forward toward the front of the cruiser. Hands on the hood. Beaumont pressed her forward and she went. Compliance, deliberate. Hands flat on the warm metal. He leaned in from behind. She felt his weight shift, going for the bag again, reaching around her without announcement. She pivoted on her right foot, stepped left, put eighteen inches between his hand and the bag. The move was small. It was enough.
“I will need to document any search of personal property,” she said. “And I’ll need to know whether you have a warrant for that search.” Beaumont’s hand closed on her shoulder from behind. Not a grab. A shove on the flat of his palm between her shoulder blades, hard enough that her chin nearly touched the hood of the cruiser. Her palms caught the metal.
She raised her eyes. She looked straight into the station camera. She held that position. Hands visible, body still, eyes forward. That was all she did. Beaumont’s voice came from somewhere above and behind her. “Raymond. Cuffs.”
“I want to note for the record,” she said, her voice steady against the hood of the cruiser, “that I haven’t resisted at any point. I am complying with all lawful commands. The time is—” She cut her eyes to her watch. “3:48 p.m.”
The cuffs went on. Not roughly. Not gently. Procedurally. Beaumont straightened and stepped back. He looked at Edson. “Theft by receiving, section 16-8-7. I’m booking her at the county building.” “You’ll want to log that rental agreement as evidence,” she said. “The one in Deputy Edson’s shirt pocket. Chain of custody starts when it was taken from my hand at approximately 3:29. That’s on the station camera, too.” Nobody answered.
Edson put his hand on her arm and walked her toward his cruiser. As he opened the rear door, she turned her head and looked at the station camera one last time. She had counted two. One facing the road. One on the pump pillar. She had not yet looked for a third. There was a third. She had confirmed it when Taggart walked out and his shadow fell at a particular angle. A hemisphere dome unit mounted under the canopy overhang on the south-facing side. She had not looked directly at it. She didn’t need to. Three cameras. Every approach to the pump island covered.
Edson closed the door. The drive to the Caldwell County building was eleven minutes. She counted every intersection. She noted every road sign. She held her hands behind her. The cuffs positioned carefully against the bar on the rear seat. And she looked out the window without turning her head and memorized the route.
Edson drove without speaking. The radio was on, low, the county dispatch frequency, the occasional burst of numbers and codes that meant nothing to most people in the back seat of a county cruiser. She was not most people. She listened.