O'Malley sighed and finally looked up. He studied Roland's dignified posture, his calm demeanor, the complete absence of criminal panic, and frowned. "He doesn't look like a prowler, Jenkins. He looks like a guy who was doing yard work."
"He refused to ID," Jenkins insisted, crossing his arms.
Roland cleared his throat. "Sergeant," he said, his voice carrying just enough to cut through the noise of the room. "Before this officer files paperwork that will end his career, I am legally entitled to a phone call. I would like my cell phone, which your officer unlawfully removed from my pocket."
Jenkins rolled his eyes. "He wants to call his public defender. Let him use the precinct line."
"No," Roland said firmly. "I will use my own secure device. Now."
There was something in Roland's tone that made Sergeant O'Malley pause. It was the undeniable voice of a commander, the kind that did not ask twice. O'Malley looked at Jenkins. "Give him his phone, Brad."
"Are you kidding me?" Jenkins scoffed. "He's a suspect."
"Give him the damn phone," O'Malley growled. "Let him call his lawyer. Saves us the headache."
Grumbling, Jenkins fished Roland's sleek government smartphone out of an evidence bag and slammed it onto the desk. He unlocked one cuff, leaving Roland's left hand chained to the booking rail so he could dial.
Roland picked up the phone. He did not call a lawyer. He pressed a single speed-dial button. The call connected on the first ring.