"Alex Evans. I live three doors down. I'm a network architect." I paused for effect. "Look, I can get you back online."
Davis let out a short, bark-like laugh. It was a sound completely devoid of humor. "Oh, you can? And how are you going to do that, computer man? You got some magic tape in your pocket? Going to sprinkle some pixie dust on the wire?"
I smiled. It was the smile I reserved for executives who asked if we could just make the cloud faster.
"No," I said calmly. "I have administrative access to a federal Continuity of Operations network—COOP. Think of it as the internet's panic room. The Department of Homeland Security has a web of redundant, high-bandwidth satellite and terrestrial backhauls for situations just like this one: natural disasters, major infrastructure failures..." I gestured vaguely at the world outside the window, "...or when an HOA president decides to go rogue with a pair of hedge clippers."
Miller was staring at me, his mouth slightly agape. "A federal network? Is that... is that legal for you to use?"
"It's 'break glass in case of emergency' legal," I explained. "The thing is, your station is already a designated Point of Presence, or POP. You have the physical connection. It's a requirement for municipal services in a community this size. But you don't have the hardware or the software protocols enabled to fail over to it automatically. It's a manual switch. A switch I know how to flip."
I pushed off the doorframe. "All I need is five minutes in your server closet, your word that you'll look the other way, and for you to pretend you didn't see what I'm about to do."
A tense silence filled the room. Davis stared at me, his mind clearly warring with itself. Decades of by-the-book police procedure were screaming at him to throw me out. But the dead, silent room around him was screaming louder. He was the captain of a sinking ship, and I had just shown up with the only lifeboat.
"You touch anything that messes up my evidence logs, my case files, anything at all," he finally said, his voice low and dangerous, "and I will personally throw you in a cell so fast your head will spin. You'll be explaining network architecture to a cellmate named Bubba."
"Fair enough," I said with a nod. "It's a deal. But when I get you back online, you owe me. You're going to march over to Brenda's house and have a little chat with her, and I get to be there. I want to see her face."
A flicker of something—maybe grim satisfaction—passed over Davis's face. He grunted. It was the closest he would ever come to a smile.
"Fine," he conceded. "Miller, go with him. Babysit. If he so much as looks at a file, tase him."
Miller gulped, his eyes darting between me and the sergeant. "Uh, roger that, Sarge."