Chapter 17: The Stop

We were four miles down Route 9 when the lights came on behind us.

Red and blue filled the cab of the truck and swung across the dashboard.

Dread looked in the mirror. His face did not change.

"Don't say anything," he said. "Don't get out. Keep your phone going in your lap."

"Is it him?"

"It's always him."

I had already pressed record, and I tipped the screen down against my knee.

Dread pulled onto the gravel shoulder and put the truck in park.

He laid both hands on top of the wheel where they could be seen.

The cruiser stopped behind us.

Two doors opened.

Clint came up on the driver's side with his flashlight.

The young deputy with the sunburned neck came up on mine, and he would not look at me.

"License and registration," Clint said.

"Evening, Deputy."

"Out of the truck, McFadden."

"What's the stop?"

"Taillight."

"Both my taillights work."

"Out of the truck."

Dread got out slowly, with his hands high.

Clint turned him around and laid him against the side of the truck.

He patted him down, from the sides to the boots, and found nothing.

"Mrs. Holzer," the young deputy said at my window, low and unhappy. "I need you to step out too, ma'am."

I stepped out.

I stood on the gravel with the phone in my fist, recording the weeds.

"Vehicle search," Clint said. "Probable cause. Look at his hands, Deputy. Look at him sweat."

The young deputy hesitated.

"Clint, I don't see..."

"I do. Stand with the wife."

Clint opened the driver's door and leaned in with his flashlight.

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