For half a second, Briggs looked uncomfortable.
Then he tossed the photograph back onto the counter.
“Should've taught you better manners.”
Daniel went still.
His father had died eighteen months earlier after a sudden heart attack.
He had been sixty-one.
For most of his life, he repaired refrigeration systems in grocery stores, hospitals, and restaurants.
He worked early mornings.
Late evenings.
Weekends.
Sometimes he came home with burns on his forearms and grease beneath his fingernails.
He rarely complained.
Daniel remembered helping him carry tools into the garage when he was nine.
He remembered his father's hands.
Strong.
Scarred.
Patient.
And he remembered something his father said on the day Daniel graduated from the police academy.
“If you ever wear that badge because you want people to fear you, take it off.”
Daniel had promised.
Now Briggs was holding the very wallet that contained his badge while mocking the man who taught him what it should mean.
Daniel kept his voice even.
“Please put the photograph back.”
Briggs smiled.
“Or what?”
Daniel looked at him.
“It's personal.”
“Everything in this bin is personal property, genius. That's why we inventory it.”
He tossed the photograph into the plastic container.
Then opened the wallet's inner flap.
His fingers stopped.
He pulled out the credential holder.
Opened it.
Gold gleamed beneath the fluorescent lights.
Briggs stared.
Then laughed.
“Oh, this is beautiful.”
He raised the badge.
“Where'd you steal this?”
Daniel slowly lifted his head.
“You should check the identification beside it.”
Briggs looked down.
There was an identification card behind the badge.
Photograph.
Name.
Department affiliation.
A credential number.
And a small designation printed beneath the title.
Briggs barely glanced at it.
He saw Daniel's face.
Then a title that included the word investigator.
He assumed it was fake.
He laughed again.
“You think you can walk around with this and make people believe you're police?”
Daniel said nothing.
Briggs turned toward Keller.
“Look at this.”
Keller approached.
He examined the badge.
His smile faded slightly.
“That's a pretty good fake.”
Briggs nodded.
“Too good.”
Daniel looked at both men.
“It's authentic.”
Briggs slapped the open credential holder onto the wooden counter.
“Shut up.”
Daniel remained still.
“Call the issuing office.”
Briggs leaned forward.
“You don't give orders here.”
“Then contact your supervisor.”
Briggs sneered.
“You still don't understand where you are, do you?”
Daniel glanced around the room.
“Yes.”
Briggs smiled.
“Then act like it.”
Daniel looked back at him.
“I know exactly where I am.”
Something about the answer irritated Briggs.