“What charge?”
“Obstruction.”
Kellen raised his eyebrows.
“What conduct constitutes obstruction?”
Harlan pointed toward him.
“That.”
“Asking?”
“Put him in Interview One.”
Reeves did not move.
“Sheriff.”
“What?”
“Questioning you isn’t obstruction.”
Harlan stepped closer.
“You want to run this?”
Reeves looked away.
“No.”
“Then Interview One.”
Kellen was placed in a small room.
Metal table.
Three chairs.
Camera high in one corner.
He sat.
The door closed.
For the first time since the market, his shoulders dropped.
His wrists hurt.
But he was thinking about Soria.
The way she asked whether he was coming home.
He hated that he had not given her more certainty.
He hated even more that he had been right not to.
If Harlan needed to know Kellen’s profession before treating him fairly, then fairness had never been part of the process.
Outside, Harlan emptied the brown wallet onto the booking desk.
Driver’s license.
Bank card.
Insurance.
Receipts.
Then his thumb caught a hidden seam.
A flap opened.
A black leather credential case slipped onto the desk.
Reeves looked down.
Harlan picked it up.
Opened it.
And stopped breathing normally.
Gold shield.
Photograph.
Name.
KELLEN MERCER.
SPECIAL AGENT.
FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION.
The room became silent.
Reeves stood.
“What?”
Harlan stared at it.
“No.”
Reeves took the case carefully.
Tilted it beneath the fluorescent light.
Holographic pattern shifted.
Security markings.
Federal identification.
“This is real.”
Harlan’s mouth went dry.
“He said he was on leave.”
Reeves looked at him.
“He told you federal.”
Harlan turned toward the interview-room corridor.
Kellen had never threatened him.
Never demanded special treatment.
Never said:
Do you know who I am?
That fact made the sheriff more uncomfortable than if he had.
The desk phone rang.
Reeves answered.
“Bellridge Sheriff’s Office.”
Pause.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
His expression changed.
“Sheriff.”
Harlan looked over.
Reeves covered the receiver.
“Atlanta FBI Field Office.”
The color drained from Harlan’s face.
Inside Interview One, Kellen lifted his head when the door opened.
Harlan stood there holding the credential.
The arrogance had disappeared.
“Mr. Mercer.”
Kellen looked at the case.
“Agent Mercer.”
Harlan swallowed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Kellen held his gaze.
“Because if knowing who I am changes how you think I deserved to be treated, Sheriff, then the problem was never the wallet.”
Harlan said nothing.
The station phone began ringing again.
Then his radio crackled.
“Sheriff, Cross.”
Harlan grabbed it.
“Go.”
Melanie’s voice was different.
Controlled.
Tense.
“You need to come back to the market.”
“Why?”
“I pulled the camera footage.”
Harlan glanced at Kellen.
“And?”
“Kellen Mercer never touched Gaines’s wallet.”
Harlan closed his eyes.
“Where is it?”
“Information booth.”
“What?”
“A fourteen-year-old kid found it beside the coffee stand and turned it in at 12:21.”
Harlan checked his watch.
That was before Kellen had been placed in the patrol SUV.
His face changed.
“Why didn’t anybody tell us?”
Melanie did not answer immediately.
Then:
“Someone tried.”
Kellen watched Harlan.
The sheriff’s grip tightened around the radio.
“What does that mean?”
“The footage shows the market volunteer walking toward Victor while you were searching Mercer.”
Silence.
“He tried to hand the wallet to Gaines.”
Kellen straightened.
“What happened?”
Melanie continued.
“Victor saw it.”
Harlan’s face went still.
“And?”
“He told the volunteer to wait.”
Kellen stared.
Melanie’s voice became colder.
“Then Victor walked over to you.”
Harlan looked toward the floor.
Kellen understood before she finished.
“What did Victor tell him?”
Harlan said nothing.
Melanie answered anyway.
“The camera has audio from the adjacent stall.”
A pause.
“Victor told you, ‘Don’t stop now. He made me look like a fool in front of everybody.’”
The interview room seemed to shrink.
Kellen looked at Harlan.
The sheriff’s face was pale.
Melanie continued.
“You said, ‘I’ll find something.’”
Nobody moved.
Then she added:
“And there’s more.”
Harlan whispered:
“What more?”
“The market volunteer came back with the wallet while you had Mercer against the truck.”
Kellen remembered seeing a man approach Victor from behind.
He had not thought much of it.
Melanie said:
“Victor takes the wallet.”
Harlan closed his eyes.
“Then puts it in his wife’s shopping bag before you put Mercer in the SUV.”
Kellen felt something cold settle in his chest.
The theft accusation had ended before his arrest.
The sheriff had simply continued.
Melanie’s voice came again.
“I’m preserving the footage.”
Harlan opened his eyes.
“Do not send it anywhere.”
The words came too quickly.
Kellen looked at him.
Melanie went silent.
Harlan realized his mistake.
“Cross.”
Her answer was slow.
“Sheriff?”
“I mean preserve chain of custody.”
“I already made two copies.”
Another pause.
“One went to the district attorney.”
Harlan’s jaw dropped slightly.
“And the other?”
Melanie hesitated.
“Agent Mercer’s office asked me to secure anything connected to his detention.”
Harlan stared at Kellen.
The phone in the booking room rang again.
Then another line.
Reeves appeared in the doorway.
“Sheriff.”
“What?”
“County attorney.”
Harlan did not answer.
“And FBI wants Agent Mercer released immediately unless we have an articulable criminal charge.”
Kellen stood.
His wrists remained cuffed.
Harlan looked at them.
Then at the federal credential in his own hand.
He stepped forward.
“Turn around.”
Kellen did not move.
Harlan froze.
For several seconds neither man spoke.
Then Kellen turned slowly.
Harlan removed the handcuffs.
Red marks circled both wrists.
“I’m sorry.”
Kellen rubbed one hand.
“No.”
Harlan stared.
“No?”
“Not yet.”
Kellen turned.
“Where is my daughter?”
“With Deputy Cross.”
“Bring her here.”
“We can have somebody—”
“Bring my daughter.”
Harlan nodded immediately.
The sheriff who had told him he was in no position to give instructions did not argue.
Soria arrived twenty-three minutes later.
Melanie walked beside her.
The moment Soria saw Kellen standing without handcuffs, she ran.
“Dad!”
He dropped to one knee.
She hit him so hard around the neck he almost lost his balance.
“I thought they were keeping you.”
“No.”
“You promised.”
“I did.”
She pulled back and examined his wrists.
Her face changed.
“They hurt you.”
“I’m okay.”
She looked past him.
Sheriff Harlan stood near the desk.
Soria’s expression hardened in a way Kellen had never seen before.
“You said he stole it.”
Harlan looked at the nine-year-old.
Nobody in the room helped him.
Soria continued.
“He didn’t.”
“No.”
“You scared me.”
Harlan swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
She stared.
Then looked at her father.
“Can we go home?”
“Yes.”
Kellen stood.
Melanie held out his wallet.