“Lieutenant,” I said, “please.”
He sat back.
Rollins gave a humorless laugh.
“Okay. Fine. Let's do this.”
He sat across from me.
“Full name.”
“Arthur James Pendleton.”
“Date of birth.”
I gave it.
“Occupation?”
I looked at him.
That was the question.
I could answer truthfully without revealing the title.
“Federal employee.”
He smirked.
“Doing what?”
“Administration.”
Miller closed his eyes for half a second.
Carter stared at the table.
Rollins wrote it down.
“Where?”
“Washington.”
“Agency?”
“Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
His pen paused.
He looked up.
Miller's expression changed.
Carter did not move.
Rollins leaned back.
“You work for the FBI.”
“What do you do?”
“Badge?”
“At home.”
“Credentials?”
Miller made a sound that was almost a sigh.
Rollins heard it.
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
Miller looked at him.
“You might want to verify that.”
“I will.”
Rollins dropped his pen.
“Whose side are you on?”
“The side where we don't make this worse.”
Carter spoke.
“Enough.”
“What am I missing?”
Nobody answered.
His gaze returned to me.
“You know him?”
Carter's silence was the answer.
Rollins looked at me again.
Really looked now.
The first traces of uncertainty appeared.
“What's your job at the Bureau?”
I folded my hands carefully because my wrists still hurt.
“Officer Rollins, before I answer that, I want you to explain why you arrested me.”
“I already did.”
“No. You named possible offenses. Explain the facts.”
He stared at me.
“You were observed standing outside a high-value residence in an area that's had theft complaints.”
“Acting suspicious.”
“What specifically?”
“You were at the mailbox.”
“My mailbox.”
“We didn't know that.”
“You refused every method I provided to verify it.”
“You didn't have identification.”
“Is failing to carry a driver's license while retrieving a newspaper from one's own property a crime?”
“Did I provide a false name?”
“We didn't know.”
“You know now.”
He shifted.
I continued.
“Did you receive a call identifying me as the suspect in a theft?”
“Did anyone report that I entered private property unlawfully?”
“Did I attempt to flee?”
“Threaten you?”
“Refuse to give my name?”
“Physically resist?”
His eyes moved toward Miller.
“Then what transformed me from a homeowner without a wallet into a man in handcuffs?”
Rollins stood.
“I don't have to sit here and be interrogated by a suspect.”
Carter said, “Sit down.”
Rollins turned toward him.
“Sit.”
Something in Carter's tone finally broke through.
Rollins sat.
I studied him.
He was not stupid.
That mattered.
People often want wrongdoing to require ignorance, as though knowledge and judgment automatically travel together.
They do not.