Walter did not smile.
He simply looked back at him.
"You were asking me who I was meeting," Walter said quietly. "I told you I wasn't meeting anyone."
Hollister's expression darkened.
"What did you do?"
Walter shifted slightly in his chair.
"I documented what happened."
The sheriff looked at Cross.
"He's a suspect. You can't just walk in here and take him."
Cross nodded.
"You're correct. I can't simply take him."
He opened the folder again.
"But I can request that the department preserve all evidence, ensure his access to counsel and medical attention, and cooperate with the investigation. I can also notify the appropriate authorities about potential misconduct involving a federal witness."
Hollister leaned forward.
"You think a recording is going to destroy my department?"
"No," Cross replied. "I think your department's own actions will determine what happens next."
The door opened once more.
A man in a dark suit entered, followed by a woman carrying a medical bag.
The man introduced himself as an attorney from the federal prosecutor's office.
The woman approached Walter.
"Mr. Hayes, I'm going to examine your injuries."
Walter nodded.
"Thank you."
She began checking his pupils and examining the swelling near his temple.
Cross stepped toward the door.
"I need to speak with the sheriff privately."
Hollister looked as though he wanted to refuse.
But the attorney was already waiting.
"That would be appropriate," he said.
The sheriff followed them into the corridor.
As the door closed, Walter looked toward the observation window.
He could see the young deputy standing on the other side.
The young man was watching him.
Walter gave him a small nod.
The deputy looked away.
For the first time since entering the station, Walter felt the tension in his shoulders begin to ease.
But he knew the matter was far from over.
Because Mercer was not the only person involved.
And Hollister had not become sheriff by acting alone.
The investigation had only just begun.
Hollister did not return to the interview room for almost twenty minutes.
Walter knew because he had watched the second hand of the wall clock complete twenty circles while the medical examiner cleaned the blood from his temple. The cut was not deep enough to require stitches, but the swelling around it concerned her. She asked him several questions about dizziness, nausea, and whether he had briefly lost consciousness.
Walter answered honestly.
He was not interested in pretending that he was tougher than he was. He had spent enough years in uniform to understand that ignoring an injury did not make it disappear.
The medical examiner, whose name was Rachel, finished writing on a small form.
"You need to go to the hospital."
"I would prefer to speak to a lawyer first."
"You can do both."
Walter considered that.
"Then I would like to speak to my daughter."
Rachel looked at him.
"Is she local?"
"No."
"Does she know you're here?"
"She knows enough."
Walter did not explain further.
Rachel gathered her equipment and stepped toward the door. Before leaving, she looked back at him.
"Mr. Hayes, I want you to understand something. You are not required to minimize what happened to you."
Walter gave a tired nod.
"I understand."
She left.
A moment later, Daniel Cross returned with the prosecutor's attorney. His expression was more serious than before.
"Mr. Hayes, we have a few things to discuss."
Walter shifted in his chair.
"Am I free to leave?"
"Not yet. The sheriff's department has not completed the formal release process, and we need to establish the legal status of your detention."
"Am I being charged?"
"That is one of the questions we're addressing."
Walter looked at the attorney.
"Then I would like counsel before answering anything else."
The attorney nodded approvingly.
"That's sensible."
Cross placed a bottle of water on the table.
"Your daughter is on her way."
Walter looked up.
"She's coming here?"
"Yes."
"She shouldn't have to."
"She insisted."
Walter lowered his eyes toward the table.
That sounded like Tessa.
When she was twelve, she had once walked three miles through a thunderstorm because Walter had promised to attend a school ceremony and his ship had returned late. She had waited outside the school office until someone finally called him.
He had arrived soaked, still wearing his uniform.
She had not complained.
She had simply asked him whether he was going to be there the next time.
He had promised.
He had broken that promise more than once during the years that followed.
He had tried to make up for it after retiring, but some things could not be repaired by simply being home.
Now she was coming to Pine Ridge because he had been hurt.
Walter rubbed his thumb against the edge of the water bottle.
"How long?"
"About forty minutes," Cross replied.
Walter nodded.
"Then I suppose I'll wait."
Cross sat opposite him.
"There's something else. The recording you made is important, but it is not the only evidence we need."