“I don’t have to,” he replies.

“No, you don’t. I was just making a point.”

“What’s that?” His eyes flicker to his pocket. A clear tell that he’s been recording this all along.

I decide to let the recording drop for now. He knows that I know. Confronting him on that won’t get us what we need. “We’re not asking you to do anything wrong. Sometimes you have to make judgments. If I walk by your door and hear you screaming for help, I have to decide whether to kick it in or not. I don’t know if some killer has a knife to your throat or your girlfriend has you tied up in bed and you’re playing a game. I have to make a choice.”

“You knock first. It’s that simple. How does your imaginary hypothetical sound now?” He looks proud of his comeback.

“You get those hypotheticals all the time when you’re a cop, Liam,” I use his first name in a friendly manner, like we’re old pals having a philosophical discussion. “Only they have real consequences. In a few days you might know what I mean. I hope not.”

“What if you kick in the door and it’s just me and my girlfriend? How does that make you feel? How often do you get to use the murder excuse?”

“Every time we kick in a door we have to answer to twelve people who decide if it was the right call or not. That’s how it works. Checks and balances.”

He shakes his head petulantly. “Sorry. Can’t help you.” He checks his watch. “I got to go take a call. Maybe if you’re in town awhile we can talk about something else later?”

This guy is unbelievable. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere.”

“Hey, you guys should be thanking me,” he replies.

“Pardon me?”

“I wrote a blog post about all this but haven’t published it yet. I could blow your bungling wide open. I even wrote about you after you called me. Photo and everything. I’ve documented everything.”

I have to breathe slowly. Posting this online would ruin the one lead we have. “Why would you do this?”

“I haven’t published it yet. Relax. What do you have to fear about transparency?”

“Transparency? You’re the one who won’t let us look at the server logs.”

“That’s different. It’s totally different.”

“Please don’t publish that. It could make things much worse.”

“I’m still thinking it over. Call me later and I’ll give you my answer.” He squeezes out of the booth and waddles away.

I stare at his sweat-stained back and don’t know what to do. I’ve been in Texas less than an hour and managed to ruin the best lead we have.

I could chase him down and bully him over the recording, but I don’t know what good that would do. It would just make things worse. And right now they already feel as bad as they can get. I regret second-guessing Jennifer.

So much for me and my delicate touch.