“And keep the barrier down until every tag checks out, Corporal.”

A bread truck came up the lane, and the green light swept its front plate and went amber.

Dewitt was out of the shack before I could open my mouth, clipboard against his chest, and he had the driver’s tag up and the number read out loud in a voice that carried to the fence.

The driver reached for the paper, and Dewitt pulled it back half an inch.

“Not until I write it down, sir.”