While they waited for the dispatcher, he quizzed Travis on all the infractions they could write Rousse for. The reserve did well on his answers.
“What about the passenger?” Kopriva asked him.
“Kind of a jerk,” Travis said.
“You think he’s telling the truth?”
Travis shrugged. “I suppose. He just doesn’t like the police.”
Kopriva suppressed a smile. Three years ago, he would have thought the same thing. Now he knew better.
Travis had almost finished writing the infractions before radio called out for Baker-123. Kopriva ignored it, giving Travis a chance to answer. The reserve didn’t notice. On the second call, he picked up the mike himself.
“Baker-123, go ahead.”
“Rousse is in locally, extensive record, but no current wants. DOL is suspended for refusing the breath test. Also.”
“Go ahead.”
“Bravo-123.”
Kopriva felt a tickle of frustration. The code was designed to inform the police officer that one of the subjects being checked had a warrant. Calling the unit by the military alphanumeric ensured that if the suspect were in earshot, he would not inadvertently overhear traffic.
“Go ahead, I’m clear for traffic,” he told radio, keeping his tone neutral. The dispatcher should have told him about the warrant first, not in the order he gave the names. But his anger quickly washed away with the satisfaction of having been right.
“It’s for Maxwell, Pete, your registered owner. A misdemeanor drug charge with a $2,030 bond. Pete Maxwell is five-ten, one-fifty, black hair, brown eyes. Also.”
“Have records confirm the warrant. Go ahead your also.”
“Maxwell, Dennis G. in locally, no wants. He’s six-two, two-hundred thirty, blond and blue.”
“Copy, thanks.” Kopriva replaced the mike and turned to Travis, who sat open-mouthed throughout the exchange. “Now, what do we have?”
Travis thought for a moment. “Well, the driver’s suspended, so we write him for that.”
Kopriva nodded. “What else?”
“The registered owner has a warrant.”
Kopriva waited for a long minute, giving Travis a chance to think some more. Travis furrowed his brow, but said nothing.
“Did the passenger have hard I.D.?” Kopriva finally asked.
“No.”
“Is he six-two?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Travis started to squirm.
Kopriva shrugged. “Maybe,” he said easily. “Hard to tell when someone is sitting down. Did he look like he weighed two-thirty? Did he have blonde hair?”
“No.” Realization flooded Ken Travis’ face. “He’s not Dennis. He’s Pete.”
Kopriva nodded. “Exactly. He’s probably Pete, the registered owner. He has a warrant, so he decided to play the name game. Only he’s not very good at it. He picked Dennis, probably a brother or a cousin, whose physicals don’t even come close.”
“Not too smart,” Travis observed.
“Hey, these people aren’t rocket scientists. Thank God.”
Travis chuckled.
Kopriva continued, “So now what do we do?”
“Arrest him.”
Kopriva gave a slow half-nod. “Well, yes. But first we get confirmation from records through radio. A records clerk will pull the actual warrant and confirm that it exists and is currently valid. While we’re waiting for that, let’s cut a ticket for Rousse on his suspended driving. Do we know for sure that this passenger is Pete?”
“Not for sure, no.”
“So we play the name game back and we get confirmation. Leave that to me. Then we arrest him. After the arrest, then what?”
“We give Rousse his tickets?”
Kopriva smiled. “We’ll do that first. Travis, don’t be afraid to be wrong. Tell me, don’t ask. It’s okay to make a mistake.”
Travis nodded several times. “Okay. After the arrest, we take him to jail.”
“True, but first we get to do something. What?”
Travis paused, thinking. Then he smiled. “We get to search the car.”
“Why?”
“Search incident to an arrest.” His smile broadened. “If the arrest is made out of a vehicle, officers may search the vehicle.”
“Excellent. Now finish those tickets. I’ll keep an eye on our little misdemeanant.”
Travis wrote quickly, obviously enthused. Kopriva felt the same way. His job was like a puzzle sometimes. Fit in who was who, figure out the truth, the partial truth and the lies. Then make the call.
“Baker-123, warrant is confirmed.”
“Copy. Have records hold it.”
Travis finished the tickets and they stepped out of the patrol car. Kopriva called Rousse back to the car, directing him to stand at the push-bar in the center of the front bumper. He kept the front corner of the vehicle between himself and Rousse.
“Mr. Rousse,” he said, placing the tickets on the hood of the car, “I am citing you tonight.” He explained each of the tickets and directed him where to sign. Rousse cooperated and didn’t appear angry. Once he’d signed the ticket, Kopriva tore off his copies and handed them to him.
“Mr. Rousse, what is your passenger’s name?”
Rousse’s eyes flitted nervously from the car to Kopriva and back again. “Dennis. Dennis Maxwell.”
“And where’s Pete tonight?”
“Home, I guess.”
“What is Pete to Dennis?”
“His brother.”
Kopriva stared at Rousse. “Why are you lying for him, Mr. Rousse?”
“I’m not. His name is Dennis. Honest, you can ask him.”
“Okay, if that’s how you want it.” Kopriva pointed. “Go back to your car, put your hands on the steering wheel and stay there.”
Rousse obeyed. As the driver reached the car, Kopriva called to the passenger. “Dennis, come back here for a minute.”
‘Dennis’ obeyed. Kopriva half-expected him to run, but evidently he had faith in his name ruse. Kopriva almost laughed in disgust as he watched a black-haired male about five-ten and one-hundred-fifty pounds exit the car and approach the front of the cruiser.
“Stand right there by my push-bar, please.”
He complied, crossing his arms.
Kopriva eyed him for a full minute until the man finally raised his hands questioningly, “What?”
“Why are you lying to me, sir?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” Kopriva said with a nod. “Do I look like an idiot to you?”
“No,” Dennis answered quietly.
“Did I forget to erase the STUPID stamp off my forehead before shift tonight?”
“What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, you’re not Dennis. You’re not even close. What’s more, you look a lot like Pete Maxwell. Now can you explain that to me?”
“I am Dennis Maxwell.”
“What do you weigh?”
“One-seventy or so. But I lost a lot of weight in the last few months. I used to weigh almost two-forty. I was fat.” Sweat collected on his upper lip and he fidgeted from foot to foot.
“And I suppose you dyed your hair black, too, huh?” Kopriva’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
He nodded.
“And what? Shaved off three inches from the soles of your feet?” Kopriva shook his head in disgust. “Uh-uh. Don’t insult my intelligence. You’re Pete Maxwell.”
“I am Dennis. Swear to God.”
Kopriva looked at Travis. The reserve stood enthralled by the entire exchange. Kopriva winked, then stepped around the car and leaned toward the fidgeting, sweating suspect. “Okay, Dennis, I’ll tell you what I am going to do. First, I’ll call for another unit to go to the station and get a printout photo of you and your brother. He’ll bring those pictures up here while I detain you. See, Pete has a warrant for his arrest. So when my friends get here and show me the pictures and you mysteriously look like Pete and not anything like Dennis, that’s when I place you under arrest for the warrant.”
Dennis squirmed, then opened his mouth to speak.
Kopriva raised his finger to cut off his denial, “Not only that, I will charge you for lying to me about your name in order to avoid arrest. Plus, I will arrest your friend for the same charge, since he is backing up your lie.”