“Some were.”
The deputy looked toward the commissioner.
“You reopened them?”
The commissioner finally spoke.
“The commission opened a district-level review.”
“So yes.”
“No.”
The commissioner’s voice remained low.
“We did not begin with you.”
The deputy stared.
“We began with data.”
That answer disturbed him more than accusation would have.
An accusation could be blamed on a person.
Data was harder.
The investigator stepped closer.
“You are being placed on administrative restriction pending formal review.”
The deputy immediately looked toward his weapon.
Not reaching.
Checking.
The investigator noticed.
“So you’re taking my gun.”
“Your duty weapon will be secured according to policy.”
“My badge?”
“Administrative credentials suspended pending review.”
The deputy laughed once.
A hollow sound.
“You people planned this.”
The commissioner’s eyes sharpened.
Again.
You people.
The deputy heard himself this time.
His face changed.
But not enough.
He turned toward the phones.
“Everybody thinks they know what they saw.”
The woman closest to the curb answered before anyone else could stop her.
“We saw you pour water on him.”
The deputy looked toward her.
“You saw five minutes.”
The woman lowered her phone.
“That was enough for the water.”
The investigator raised one hand.
“Let’s stop.”
He looked toward the commissioner.
“Sir, medical evaluation?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The investigator glanced at the soaked uniform.
The commissioner understood.
“I am wet.”
“Not injured.”
The lead investigator nodded.
Then to the younger officer:
“You witnessed the entire contact?”
“Yes.”
“Body camera running?”
The younger officer looked down.
“Yes.”
“Preserve it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The deputy snapped:
“He’s not your subordinate.”
The investigator looked at him.
“No.”
Then toward the younger officer.
“But evidence is evidence.”
The deputy opened his mouth again.
His attorney had not yet arrived.
The investigator knew that.
So did the commissioner.
The commissioner stepped forward.
“Deputy.”
The deputy turned.
For the first time since the confrontation began, the commissioner’s voice carried something more than restraint.
Not rage.
Warning.
“Stop speaking.”
The deputy stared.
The commissioner continued.
“You are angry.”
“Yes.”
“You feel ambushed.”
“I was.”
“No.”
The commissioner pointed toward the courthouse.
“You were scheduled to receive administrative notice whether I arrived through that entrance or not.”
The deputy’s lips pressed together.
“You believe what happened here changes that.”
“It does not.”
He paused.
“It creates a separate matter.”
The deputy looked toward the wet jacket.
Then toward the scattered photographs now being gathered by investigators.
The commissioner continued.
“If you keep talking because you feel humiliated, you may say something your attorney wishes you had not.”
The deputy stared at him.
“Why are you helping me?”
The question surprised everyone.
The commissioner’s expression barely changed.
“I am not helping you.”