It was a good performance.
Norman had to admit that.
But he'd heard a thousand stories from a thousand suspects, each one more elaborate than the last.
The drug dealer who was actually an undercover DEA agent.
The drunk driver who was rushing his pregnant wife to the hospital despite being alone in the car.
The guy with a trunk full of stolen electronics who swore he was a private investigator on a case.
"You know what?" Norman said, his grin widening. "I almost believe you. You've got the look down. The voice. The whole military-bearing thing. But here's what you don't have. Any proof. No badge, no credentials, no paperwork. Just a story and an expensive truck."
"The proof is coming."
"Sure it is."
Norman took the exit toward town, the lights of the precinct visible in the distance.
"And when it doesn't, when your one phone call goes to some public defender who's going to tell you to take a plea deal, I want you to remember this moment. Remember when you had the chance to cooperate and you chose to play games instead."
Taylor leaned back against the seat, his eyes closing.
"I'm not the one playing games, officer. And I'm not the one who's going to need a lawyer."
Norman's smile faltered for just a second before he forced it back.
"Keep telling yourself that."
But as the precinct grew closer, as the familiar parking lot came into view with its flickering sodium lights and the flag hanging limp in the still night air, Norman felt that whisper of doubt again.
Felt it in the way Taylor had gone quiet.
In the resignation on his face.
In the way he'd said 43 minutes, like he was counting down to something inevitable.
Norman crushed the doubt again, harder this time.
He'd made the right call.
He'd done his job.
And in a few hours, when this guy was processed and booked and sitting in a cell, Norman would be the cop who'd taken down a major player without backup, without hesitation.
He pulled into his parking spot and killed the engine, already imagining the looks on his colleagues' faces.
He had no idea he had 39 minutes left before his entire world collapsed.
The precinct at midnight had the atmosphere of a waiting room in purgatory.
Fluorescent lights humming overhead.
The smell of burnt coffee and industrial cleaner.
And the skeleton crew of night-shift officers who looked up with mild interest as Norman hauled his prisoner through the front doors.
Taylor moved with that same controlled grace despite the cuffs, his boots squeaking slightly on the linoleum as Norman guided him past the front desk.
"Got a live one, Norman?" Officer Hendricks called from behind the Plexiglas, not bothering to look up from his phone.
"You have no idea," Norman said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice. "Caught him on 29. Refused to comply, resisted arrest, the whole nine yards."
Hendricks glanced up then, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Taylor's size and bearing.
"He give you trouble?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle."
Norman steered Taylor toward the booking area, past the holding cells where a drunk was singing something off-key and mournful.
"Clear me a station. This one's going to take a while."
The booking room was small and institutional, with concrete walls painted the color of depression and a metal desk bolted to the floor.
Norman pushed Taylor into the chair facing the fingerprint scanner and computer terminal, then uncuffed one wrist only to recuff it to the metal ring embedded in the desk.
Taylor didn't resist.
Didn't speak.
Just sat there with that thousand-yard stare that was starting to get under Norman's skin.
"All right. Let's make this official."
Norman dropped into the chair opposite and pulled up the booking form on the computer.
"Full name?"
Taylor said nothing.
"I asked you a question."
"I heard you."
Norman's fingers hovered over the keyboard.
"You're required to identify yourself during booking. That's not optional."
"I'm not refusing to identify myself. I'm telling you that providing my full name and operational details to a local database represents a security breach I'm not authorized to make."
"Jesus Christ."
Norman rubbed his eyes, feeling the adrenaline crash starting to hit.