“You got somebody we can call?”
“I'd prefer to make that call myself.”
He laughed.
“You're not in a hotel.”
“You're under arrest.”
“For what?”
“Possibly trespassing. Failure to comply. We'll sort it out.”
“Which lawful order did I fail to comply with?”
“Keep talking like that and obstruction can get added.”
Miller turned.
“Stop.”
That was the first time his voice carried weight.
Miller stared forward again.
The cruiser continued.
I filed the exchange away.
Not because I intended to use Miller.
Because in any institutional failure, there are always two questions.
Who crossed the line?
And who saw the line being crossed?
We entered the underground parking level beneath the district station.
Rollins pulled into a marked bay.
When he opened my door, I stepped out slowly.
The cuffs had begun numbing two fingers on my right hand.
“Those need loosening.”
“They're fine.”
“They're restricting circulation.”
“Move.”
Miller came around the car.
“Derek, check them.”
“Check them.”
Rollins stopped.
For a moment I thought he might refuse simply because Miller had asked twice.
Then he inserted the key and loosened the right cuff one notch.
Blood rushed back painfully.
“Happy?”
He shook his head.
Inside, the desk officer looked up.
“Morning.”
Then his eyes landed on me.
“What's this?”
“Suspicious person,” Rollins said. “Possible trespass.”
The desk officer looked at the intake sheet.
“Address?”
Rollins gave it.
The desk officer typed.
I watched his face change.
Very slightly.
He looked at me.
Then at Rollins.
“What's his name?”
“Claims Arthur Pendleton.”
The officer's hands stopped over the keyboard.
Miller noticed.
Rollins did not.
The desk officer stared at the monitor.
Then he leaned closer.
I couldn't see what was on the screen, but I knew the public record attached to my house did not list my occupation.
It did, however, list my name.
“Rollins.”
“You run this before bringing him in?”
“No. Why?”
The desk officer turned the monitor.
“Because the property record says Arthur Pendleton.”
Silence.
Rollins stepped toward the screen.
He read.
I saw the exact second he understood that the first layer of his assumption had collapsed.
Then I watched him rebuild it.
Fast.
“He could've known the owner's name.”
The desk officer frowned.
“How?”
“Mailbox. Internet. Whatever.”
I said, “My wallet is inside the house.”
Rollins looked at me.
“Quiet.”
Miller's face tightened.
The desk officer glanced between us.
“Why didn't anyone just retrieve it?”
Rollins ignored him.
“Put him in interview two.”
The desk officer didn't move.
“This isn't making sense.”
Rollins leaned toward him.
“He was uncooperative.”
“No,” Miller said.
Everyone turned.
Rollins stared at his partner.
Miller swallowed.
“He wasn't.”
Nobody spoke.
Miller went on.
“He answered everything. Gave the address. Offered verification. He didn't resist.”
Rollins's face became still.