“What brings you to Randolph County?”
“Lunch.”
A man at the counter made a small sound that might have been a cough.
The sheriff’s face hardened.
“You got a name?”
“Amara.”
“Amara what?”
“Whitlock.”
“Where are you from, Amara Whitlock?”
“Georgia.”
He looked at the plate in front of me.
“Funny. You don't look like you're from around here.”
“I wasn't aware there was a particular way to look.”
The silence that followed was so complete that I could hear the refrigerator motor humming behind the counter.
Voss stepped closer to the booth.
“Are you trying to be smart with me?”
“No, Sheriff. I'm answering your questions.”
He leaned forward, planting one hand on the table.
“Then let's make this easy. We had an armed theft reported this morning. A woman matching your description was seen leaving the area. Black woman, braided hair, denim jacket. You fit.”
I glanced at my jacket.
“That description could fit a lot of people.”
“Not when you add the rest of it.”
“What rest of it?”
“That's what we're going to find out.”
He looked toward the deputy.
“Reed.”
The younger man straightened.
“Yes, Sheriff?”
“Get the cuffs.”
Deputy Reed did not move immediately.
“Sheriff, do we have a warrant or a confirmed identification?”
Voss turned his head slowly.
“What did you say?”
“I asked whether we have a confirmed identification.”
The sheriff's mouth tightened.
“I heard you the first time.”
Reed swallowed.
“No, sir. I mean, I can check the dispatch notes before—”
“Did I ask you to check anything?”
“No, sir.”
“Then get the cuffs.”
Reed reached for his belt.
I watched the exchange carefully. The deputy's discomfort was real. So was his fear.
That mattered.
A person could be afraid and still make a choice. Sometimes, the most important choice was the one a person made while afraid.
I turned back to Voss.
“Sheriff, I am willing to cooperate with a lawful investigation. If you believe I have information about a theft, you can ask me questions. But I will not consent to an unlawful search, and I would like you to explain the basis for detaining me.”
His face reddened.
“You hear that, Reed? She knows all the legal words.”
“I know enough to ask what I've done.”
“You've done plenty.”
“What, specifically?”
He did not answer.
Instead, he reached across the table and seized my wrist.
The suddenness of the movement made the waitress gasp.
“Stand up.”
I looked at his hand.
“Please release my arm.”
He twisted harder.
“I said stand up.”
The pressure sent a sharp line of pain from my wrist toward my elbow. I stood because I did not want him to wrench my shoulder out of its socket. My knee struck the underside of the table, making the water glasses tremble.
Voss dragged my arm behind my back.
“Hands behind you.”
“They already are.”
“Don't tell me what to do.”
The first cuff snapped around my left wrist.
The sound seemed to travel through the entire restaurant.
Someone near the kitchen whispered, “Oh, my God.”
I felt the metal press into my skin as Voss pulled my other arm back. He forced my wrist upward at an angle that made my shoulder burn.
“Sheriff,” I said, keeping my voice controlled, “I am not resisting.”
“Sure looks like it to me.”
“You are the one twisting my arm.”
He pushed my right wrist into the second cuff and locked it.
Then he yanked me away from the booth.
My thigh struck the edge of the table. A glass tipped over, spilling water across the floor. My plate slid toward the aisle and shattered when it hit the tiles.
The little girl near the window began to cry.
Her mother pulled her close.
Voss did not even glance in their direction.
“You should've made this easy,” he muttered.
I steadied my feet.
“I asked you to explain the basis for the arrest.”
“And I told you we're investigating an armed theft.”
“You have not identified any evidence connecting me to one.”
“You want to keep talking?”
“I would like you to follow the law.”
He laughed.
It was not a nervous laugh. It was the laugh of a man who had spent so long avoiding consequences that the possibility of them had become almost amusing.
“You people come in here thinking you can tell us how to run things.”
There it was.
Not the allegation about theft. Not a concern about public safety. Not a question about where I had been that morning.
You people.
I held his gaze.
“Who are you referring to, Sheriff?”
He pulled me closer.
“Don't play games with me.”
“I'm asking you to clarify your statement.”
His face came within inches of mine.
“You want clarification? Here's your clarification. This is my county. I decide who's a problem, and I decide what happens to them.”
Deputy Reed stared at the floor.
I made a mental note of the time, the exact words, and the position of everyone in the room.
That was habit. Years on the bench had taught me that memory was useful, but contemporaneous notes and independent evidence were better. I could remember the sheriff's language later, but I wanted the witnesses to have their own recollections before anyone had an opportunity to influence them.
Voss shoved me toward the entrance.
As we passed the counter, the waitress stepped out from behind it.
“Sheriff, she hasn't done anything. She's been sitting right there the whole time.”
He stopped.
“What did you say?”
The waitress's face turned pale.
“I just said she's been here since before you came in.”
“You saw the theft?”
“No, sir.”
“Then you don't know what she did.”
“I know she was eating lunch.”
“Stay out of police business.”
The waitress looked at me.
For a moment, I thought she might speak again.
Then she glanced at the deputy, at the sheriff's hand around my arm, and at the little girl crying in her mother's lap.
She stepped back.
Voss smiled at her.
“Smart choice.”
He pulled me toward the door.