“Where did you get that?”
Walter's expression changed.
“My face?”
“Yes.”
Walter looked away.
“It's nothing.”
“Looks like you've been hit.”
Walter remained silent.
The officer waited.
Finally, Walter said, “I fell.”
The answer came too quickly.
The officer noticed.
“So you fell?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
Officer Brooks studied him.
Walter could feel the questions changing.
The traffic stop was no longer about the vehicle.
It was about him.
His bruise.
His phone.
His movements.
His silence.
Walter suddenly wished he were anywhere else.
The truth was that he had not fallen.
The night before, Walter had gone to the home of an old friend, Samuel Carter, after receiving a strange phone call.
Samuel had sounded frightened.
Walter had driven there immediately.
When he arrived, he found Samuel arguing with a younger man outside the house.
The argument became physical.
Walter had tried to intervene.
Someone shoved him.
His face struck the corner of a wooden fence.
He had fallen to the ground.
But before he could recover, the younger man had run away.
Samuel had told him not to call the police.
That part had troubled Walter.
Samuel had always been a calm man.
A former military mechanic.
A widower.
A man who never frightened easily.
Yet that night, Samuel had looked terrified.
“Don't get involved, Walter,” he had whispered.
Walter had asked why.
Samuel had only replied:
“They already know about you.”
Walter had laughed then.
He had thought his old friend was confused.
Now, sitting beside a police officer who seemed unusually interested in his movements, Walter wasn't laughing anymore.
Officer Brooks knocked lightly on the door.
“Mr. Hayes, step out of the vehicle.”
Walter looked at him.
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Then why do I need to get out?”
“Because I'm asking you to.”
Walter hesitated.
He looked at the camera.