“I’m still here.”
“I’m documenting the interruption.”
Harlan reached toward the phone.
Malcolm did not pull away.
He simply said:
“Sheriff, if you disconnect this call after being told a federal preservation request is being initiated, I suggest you think carefully.”
Harlan froze.
Not because Malcolm threatened him.
Because Malcolm did not.
The calmness made the consequence sound less negotiable.
The sheriff lowered his hand.
Anna Park said:
“Do you require counsel?”
“I can arrange my own.”
“Judge Harper’s chambers cannot give you legal advice.”
“I understand.”
“I am notifying the U.S. Attorney’s Office solely regarding preservation and court access.”
“Understood.”
“Stay where you are unless lawfully released.”
Malcolm looked at Harlan.
“I suspect that part may change quickly.”
He ended the call.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
The red light on the phone stayed illuminated.
Sheriff Harlan stared at Malcolm.
Then at the receiver.
“What did you say your name was?”
Malcolm looked at him.
“The same thing it said on the license.”
Harlan’s face hardened.
“You should have identified yourself.”
“As what?”
“You know exactly what.”
“A federal court monitor?”
“Yes.”
Malcolm nodded slowly.
“Would that have changed how you treated me?”
The sheriff opened his mouth.
Stopped.
Malcolm continued:
“That is exactly why it should not have mattered.”
Deputy Ruiz stood near the hallway.
She had heard enough.
Harlan looked toward her.
“Get his property.”
Ruiz did not move immediately.
“What?”
“Release him.”
Malcolm turned.
“No.”
Both stared.
Harlan laughed in disbelief.
“What do you mean, no?”
“I mean I want the booking record completed accurately.”
“You’re being released.”
“Then document the arrest.”
“We can void it.”
“No.”
The sheriff’s face reddened.
Malcolm continued:
“I want an incident number.”
“Property inventory.”
“Written reason for the detention.”
“Written reason for the arrest.”
“And the two pieces of my driver’s license returned in an evidence envelope.”
Harlan stared.
“You want to stay in jail?”
“I want the record to exist.”
Ruiz looked down.
Hiding something.
Possibly respect.
Possibly fear.
Harlan stepped close.
“You think one phone call turns you into somebody important?”
Malcolm’s expression did not change.
“No.”
“I think it confirms whether the rules change when you discover who someone is.”
Harlan looked toward Ruiz.
“Leave.”
She hesitated.
“Sheriff—”
“Now.”
Ruiz walked away.
Harlan lowered his voice.
“You came here looking for trouble.”
“No.”
“You’re investigating this office.”
“Yes.”
“And you just happened to drive through my county in an old truck?”
“That truck belonged to my father.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing.”
Malcolm paused.
“That seems to bother you.”
The sheriff laughed bitterly.
“You people love theater.”