Phone.
A folded receipt.
Twenty-three dollars cash.
A small silver challenge coin his sister had given him years earlier.
Rachel placed everything into a plastic property tray.
“Fingerprint scanner.”
Isaiah complied.
“Photo.”
He stood against the wall.
The camera flashed.
Cleary watched from behind the desk.
Isaiah felt something unpleasantly surreal about the entire process.
Two days earlier, his photograph had been taken for retirement paperwork.
Now another camera recorded him as an inmate.
Same face.
Different institution.
Rachel asked for emergency contact.
“Danielle Brooks.”
“Relationship?”
“Sister.”
“Phone number?”
Isaiah gave it.
Cleary interrupted.
“Don’t call anybody yet.”
Rachel looked at him.
“He gets a call.”
“When I say.”
“He’s being booked.”
“I know how booking works.”
Rachel stopped.
The room became quiet.
Cleary walked toward Isaiah.
“You still want to tell me who you really are?”
Isaiah’s expression did not change.
“I already did.”
“Wrong answer.”
Isaiah looked toward the wall phone.
“I want my call.”
Cleary crossed his arms.
“To your sister?”
“No.”
“Lawyer?”
“No.”
“Who?”
Isaiah stared.
“That isn’t your concern.”
The sheriff smiled.
“I decide what’s my concern inside this building.”
Rachel looked down at her keyboard.
Mooney moved toward the hallway.
Isaiah saw something in both of them.
Embarrassment.
Fear.
Habit.
Cleary pointed toward the wall phone.
“One call.”
Isaiah walked over.
The telephone was old enough to have a coiled cord.
He picked up the receiver.
Dialed nine.
Then a 703 area code.
Cleary’s amusement faded slightly.
Isaiah entered several more digits.
The call connected.
A recorded voice answered.
“Defense switchboard.”
Isaiah spoke calmly.
“Duty desk.”
“Please identify.”
“Brooks, Isaiah J.”
“Authentication?”
Isaiah gave a short phrase.
Not classified.
Not dramatic.
Simply one of several verification sequences issued during his transition because certain records had not yet fully migrated.
The line clicked.
Another voice answered.
“Duty desk.”
Isaiah continued.
“This is Sergeant First Class Isaiah Brooks, retired effective two days ago. I’m being held at Coopersville County Sheriff’s Office in Alabama. My retirement identification credential has been intentionally destroyed by the arresting sheriff.”
Cleary’s smile disappeared.
Rachel looked up.
Mooney stopped in the hallway.
The voice on the phone became sharper.
“Repeat location.”
“Coopersville County Sheriff’s Office.”
“County?”
Isaiah answered.
“Are you injured?”
“No serious injury.”
“Are you restrained?”
“Not currently.”
“Was the credential confiscated?”
“Destroyed roadside.”
“Name of law enforcement officer?”
“Sheriff Arthur Cleary.”
The sheriff suddenly moved.