“Then you should have considered that before detaining me.”
For the first time, the sheriff did not answer immediately.
Daniel noticed it.
He noticed the way Harlan's gaze shifted toward the administrative offices, the way his fingers rubbed the edge of his belt, and the way his voice became quieter whenever Marcus's name was mentioned.
The deputy had worked with Harlan long enough to recognize the signs of irritation.
This was something different.
This was fear trying to disguise itself as anger.
“Get the boy's file,” Harlan ordered.
Daniel hesitated.
“Now.”
“Yes, sir.”
The young deputy hurried toward the records office.
Evelyn watched him leave.
When the sheriff turned back, she spoke in a voice low enough that Daniel could not hear her from the corridor.
“Richard, you have a choice.”
Harlan's expression changed at the use of his first name.
“You will address me as Sheriff.”
“Very well. Sheriff Harlan, you can open this door, document what happened, preserve every relevant record, and cooperate with the investigation. Or you can continue making decisions that will force other people to determine whether your conduct was lawful.”
“You think you can walk into my county and take everything away from me?”
“I haven't taken anything from you.”
“Not yet.”
Evelyn held his gaze.
“That is precisely the problem. You believe accountability is something someone does to you. You have not considered that it might be something you owe the people you serve.”
The sheriff looked away first.
It was a small thing, barely noticeable.
But Evelyn had spent years watching people reveal themselves in the moments when they believed they were hiding their emotions.
Harlan was not simply protecting his reputation.
He was protecting a secret.
And whatever that secret was, Marcus Reed had somehow become connected to it.
Daniel returned carrying a thin folder.
The sheriff snatched it from his hands and opened it.
His face darkened as he read the first page.
“Where is the original report?”
“This is the file I was given.”
“I asked for the original.”
“The records clerk said this was everything in the system.”
Harlan flipped through the pages.
A detention form.
A brief incident summary.
A property receipt.
A signature.
No interview transcript.
No record of a guardian notification.
No statement from the officer who had supposedly witnessed the incident.
Most importantly, the report listed the detention time as 11:42 a.m.
Daniel looked at the wall clock.
It was barely eleven thirty.
He frowned.
“Sheriff, that time can't be right.”
Harlan stopped turning pages.
“What did you say?”
“The detention time. It's in the future.”
The sheriff stared at the document.
A small line of sweat appeared near his temple.
Evelyn watched him carefully.
“That's interesting,” she said.
Harlan closed the folder.
“It is a clerical error.”
“Perhaps.”
“Daniel, correct it.”
The deputy looked uncomfortable.
“Sir, I can't change an official record without documenting the correction.”
“Then document it.”
“What time should I enter?”
Harlan hesitated.
Only for a second.
But that second was enough.
Evelyn stepped back from the bars.
“Do not alter that document.”
The sheriff turned on her.
“You don't give orders in my department.”
“Then I suggest you give one that doesn't create evidence of misconduct.”
Harlan's voice rose.
“Open the administrative office. Nobody touches another file until I say so.”
Daniel moved toward the records room.
Before he reached the door, a phone began ringing inside the sheriff's office.
Harlan glanced toward the sound.
The ringing continued.
He ignored it.
Then it stopped and began again.
“Answer that,” he ordered.
Daniel entered the office and lifted the receiver.
“Bellhaven County Sheriff's Department.”
He listened.
His face became increasingly tense.
“Yes, ma'am. One moment.”
He covered the receiver and looked toward Harlan.
“Sheriff, it's the federal district office.”
Harlan remained still.
“They're asking to speak with Ms. Brooks.”
“Tell them she's unavailable.”
Daniel looked at the woman behind the bars.
“Sir, they say they need to confirm her safety personally.”
Harlan's eyes hardened.
“Tell them I will return the call.”
Daniel brought the receiver closer to his mouth.
“Ma'am, the sheriff says—”
“Deputy Mercer,” Evelyn called from the cell, “please tell them I am being held in the county jail without charges and that I have requested legal access.”
Harlan crossed the corridor in three strides.
“Hang up!”
Daniel froze.
The voice on the other end was still speaking.
For a brief moment, the young deputy looked at the telephone, the sheriff, and the woman behind the bars.
Then he made a decision.
“Ma'am,” he said into the receiver, “Ms. Brooks is here. She is conscious and unharmed. She is being held in a locked cell, and I have not seen a charging document.”
Harlan ripped the receiver from his hand.
“This is Sheriff Richard Harlan. There has been a misunderstanding. I will handle the matter locally.”
He listened for several seconds.
Whatever he heard caused the color to drain from his face.
“No,” he said sharply. “That will not be necessary.”
Another pause.
“I understand.”
He slammed the receiver down.
The room seemed to shrink around him.
Evelyn folded her arms.
“Did they ask you to preserve the records?”