Those words appeared to irritate him more than the earlier disagreement. Documentation meant a record that could be reviewed by someone who had not been present. It meant the events could not simply be reduced to whatever version Kane chose to give afterward.
He had spent years relying on his ability to control the immediate circumstances of an encounter. He knew how to dominate a conversation, how to make a junior officer hesitate, and how to turn uncertainty into an opportunity to assert himself.
A written record was different.
It did not care how loudly he spoke.
It did not respond to rank or intimidation.
And it could be read long after the room had emptied.
Brooks continued speaking with the person on the phone. She provided the relevant identifying information available to her and followed the instructions she was given. From time to time, she glanced toward Cross to confirm a detail, then repeated it into the receiver.
Kane watched her closely.
"Ask them whether that badge could have been purchased online," he said.
Brooks closed her eyes for a brief moment.
"Victor, stop."
"What? It's a legitimate question."
"Not when you have already decided the answer."
"I haven't decided anything. I'm asking for verification."
Cross looked at him.
"That is the first accurate description you've given of what should have happened."
Kane straightened immediately.
"Don't start."
Cross said nothing more.
Brooks continued the call, making it clear that she needed the proper authentication process rather than a general opinion about the appearance of the badge. She listened carefully, asked a follow-up question, and wrote down a reference number on the back of a blank sheet.
When she finally lowered the receiver slightly, her expression had changed.
She did not look triumphant. She looked more concerned than before.
Kane noticed.
"What did they say?"
"They're checking the information."
"Checking what information?"
"The credentials and the details I've provided."
"That doesn't tell us anything."
"It tells us that verification is underway."
Kane gave a dismissive wave.
"Of course they'll say that. Nobody wants to admit they can't identify their own people."
Brooks returned the receiver to her ear when the person on the other end resumed speaking. She listened without interrupting, her eyes focused on the notes she had made.
Cross observed the change in her posture. She had stopped treating the call as a routine administrative step and was now paying attention to every instruction.
That was encouraging, but he did not assume the outcome.
A badge could be authentic and still require additional confirmation. Names could be entered incorrectly. Systems could be unavailable. A person answering a general office line might not have access to the information necessary to settle the question.
Cross had seen enough investigations to understand that verification was a process, not a magic word.
What mattered was that the process had finally begun.
Kane, meanwhile, had become increasingly restless.
He walked toward the far end of the table, picked up a folder, opened it, and put it down again without reading anything inside. He glanced at the closed blinds, checked the time on his wristwatch, and returned to his original position.
Parker noticed every movement.
"Sir," the younger officer said cautiously, "do you want me to write down the timeline?"
Kane looked at him.
"What timeline?"
"The time Mr. Cross was brought in. When the cuffs were applied. When the identification was presented. When the injury occurred."
Kane's eyes narrowed.
"You don't need to write down every little thing that happens in this station."
"An incident report would normally include those details."
"Normally," Kane repeated. "But this is not a normal situation."
Parker hesitated.
"That's why I think we should document it."
Kane stepped closer to him.
"You've been here long enough to know that officers sometimes have to make decisions before they have all the information. That's part of the job."
Parker did not dispute that.
"Yes, sir."
"And you know that people lie about who they are."
"Yes, sir."
"So stop acting like you've already decided I'm the problem."
Parker's face tightened. He looked toward Cross, then toward Brooks, who was still on the phone.
"I haven't decided anything," he said. "I'm trying to make sure the record is accurate."
Kane held his gaze for a moment before turning away.
The younger officer's answer had not been aggressive. It had not even been particularly brave. Yet it was enough to reveal that Kane could no longer assume everyone in the room would accept his interpretation without question.