Isaiah softened slightly.
“But you can still say something.”
Mooney rubbed the back of his neck.
“You don’t know Cleary.”
“No.”
“He’s been sheriff eighteen years.”
“That doesn’t make him right.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Mooney looked through the plexiglass.
Isaiah leaned forward.
“You were there when he broke the card.”
“I got there afterward.”
“You saw the pieces.”
“Yes.”
“You saw the paperwork.”
“Yes.”
“You heard me say I didn’t consent to the search.”
“Yes.”
Mooney nodded.
Isaiah continued.
“You know the speed allegation isn’t true.”
“I didn’t see the stop.”
“The cruiser has video.”
Mooney’s face changed.
Isaiah noticed.
“Does it?”
The deputy looked away.
“What?”
“Does Cleary’s cruiser have working dash video?”
Mooney did not answer.
Isaiah understood.
Interesting.
Before either man said more, Rachel called from the booking area.
“Caleb.”
Mooney turned.
“What?”
Her voice sounded different.
“Get out here.”
The deputy left.
Isaiah stood.
Through the small window, he could see only part of the desk.
Rachel was staring at the main telephone.
Not the wall phone.
The red one.
Every old government building seemed to have a telephone nobody used.
This station had one too.
A red desk phone positioned beside the dispatch console.
According to the faded label, it connected through the state emergency communications network.
At 4:22 p.m., it began ringing.
Rachel stared.
Mooney approached.
“What is that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You ever heard it ring?”
“No.”
It rang again.
Sheriff Cleary walked from his office.
“What’s going on?”
Rachel pointed.
“That.”
The phone rang a third time.
Cleary frowned.
“Answer it.”
Rachel did.
“Coopersville County Sheriff’s Office.”
She listened.
Her posture changed.
“Yes, sir.”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
Her eyes moved toward Isaiah’s holding cell.
Then toward Cleary.
The sheriff saw the look.
“Who is it?”
Rachel covered the receiver.
“It’s for you.”
“Who?”
She swallowed.
“Department of Defense secure coordination desk.”
The room went silent.
Cleary stared at the phone.
For the first time since Isaiah had met him, uncertainty crossed his face.
He walked to the desk.
Took the receiver.
“This is Sheriff Arthur Cleary.”
Isaiah could not hear the other side.
He did not need to.
Cleary’s expression told the story.
Confidence first.
Then irritation.
Then confusion.
Then something approaching alarm.
“No, Colonel, he is being held on state charges.”
Pause.
“No, I did not say the identification was verified.”