The dispatcher answered cautiously.
"They've already requested that any evidence connected to Mr. Brooks be preserved."
Cleary's jaw tightened.
"Who told them there's evidence?"
There was another pause.
Then the dispatcher replied, "They didn't specify."
The sheriff looked toward Isaiah.
His smile returned, but it no longer reached the corners of his mouth.
"You've been making phone calls, haven't you?"
Isaiah remained calm.
"My phone has been in the truck since you ordered me out."
Cleary stared.
Then leaned closer.
"You think some government office can tell me how to run my county?"
Isaiah shook his head.
"No, Sheriff. I think they want to know whether I'm safe."
The sheriff's expression hardened.
For a moment, he seemed ready to say something.
Instead, he turned toward the radio.
"Tell the caller I'll contact them when I'm finished."
Then he pulled Isaiah toward the rear seat.
The door opened.
And the veteran realized that even a call from Washington wasn't going to make Cleary release him immediately.
Dispatcher June Maddox had worked at the Holloway County communications center for twenty-seven years.
She was fifty-nine, with graying brown hair, reading glasses attached to a chain, and a practical manner that made her popular with younger dispatchers.
She'd handled everything from severe storm emergencies to domestic disturbances, traffic collisions, and late-night calls from frightened families.
She also understood that communications records mattered.
A radio exchange could establish when an officer received information.
A caller's statement could clarify what was known before an incident escalated.
And a properly preserved timeline could protect both officers and the people they encountered.
When the federal investigator called that afternoon, June immediately recognized the seriousness of the request.
The woman on the line identified herself through official channels and explained that a scheduled witness contact had been missed.
She didn't disclose the entire investigation.
But she provided Isaiah's name, the approximate route, and the silver Ford F-150 he was driving.
June checked the active traffic stops.
There it was.
Sheriff Arthur Cleary.
County Road 44.
Silver Ford pickup with Illinois registration.
The stop had been active for more than thirty minutes.
June felt a chill.
She'd known Cleary for years.
He could be demanding and unpleasant, but she'd rarely received a direct federal inquiry involving someone he'd detained.
She asked the investigator to verify the request through the established contact process.
The woman complied.
After the confirmation, June returned to the radio.
She expected Cleary to acknowledge the information and clarify the situation.
Instead, he sounded angry.
When he dismissed the request, June looked toward the call log.