Jennings stopped typing.
Cleary turned sharply.
"Don't start."
Isaiah remained calm.
"He tore it into two pieces and threw it onto my truck seat."
For several seconds, the booking officer looked between them.
Then she typed a note.
Cleary noticed.
"What are you putting in there?"
Jennings didn't look up.
"The subject's statement concerning the condition of his identification."
The sheriff's jaw tightened.
"That's unnecessary."
She met his gaze.
"Sir, I need to document what I'm told."
For a moment, the room became quiet.
Then Cleary walked toward the exit.
"Finish processing him."
He disappeared through the door.
Jennings watched him go.
Then looked toward Isaiah.
"Any medical concerns?"
Isaiah hesitated.
His cheek remained tender where Cleary slapped him, and his wrists were sore.
"Yes, ma'am. My face hurts, and my wrists need to be checked."
She nodded.
Then documented the request.
It was a small act of ordinary professionalism.
But after the roadside encounter, Isaiah found it unexpectedly reassuring.
Chief Deputy Redd arrived at the detention facility twenty minutes later.
He entered through a secured hallway, spoke briefly with the shift supervisor, and requested the relevant arrest paperwork.
The supervisor handed him the preliminary report.
Redd read it carefully.
His expression became more serious with each paragraph.
The report described Isaiah as argumentative, uncooperative, and suspected of presenting fraudulent military credentials.
It also alleged that the veteran attempted to interfere with the sheriff's investigation.
Redd looked toward the supervisor.
"Was there any physical resistance?"
The man checked the notes.
"None specifically documented."
Redd frowned.
"Any attempt to flee?"
"No."
"Any verified report that the military identification was fraudulent?"
The supervisor shook his head.
"Not that I have."
Redd looked back at the document.
For several seconds, he remained quiet.
Then he asked for the underlying dispatch records and available video information to be preserved.
He also wanted the condition of the vehicle and identification documented independently.
The supervisor nodded.
Then lowered his voice.
"Sir, the sheriff seemed pretty angry."
Redd looked toward him.
"I noticed."
For a moment, the man hesitated.
Then added.
"He's already called twice asking whether the prisoner's property was searched."
Redd's expression changed.
"What property?"
"The truck. He wants to know if Redline found any documents."
For several seconds, the chief deputy stared.
Then he looked toward the booking report.
The arrest was beginning to look less like a traffic stop and more like an attempt to gain access to whatever Isaiah carried.
Meanwhile, Helena Ward was trying to establish direct communication with the county's responsible officials.