The deputy approached and searched the veteran's jacket. He found a folded handkerchief, a small packet of medication, an old wallet, and a battered flip-phone held together with a thin elastic band.
He pulled the phone out and held it up.
DEPUTY COLE: "What's this?"
Walter looked at the device.
WALTER: "My phone."
DEPUTY COLE: "I can see that. Who are you calling?"
WALTER: "No one."
Vance took the phone from the deputy and examined its scratched casing. The screen was old, the plastic around the battery compartment had cracked, and the small buttons had faded from years of use.
The sheriff laughed.
VANCE: "You still use one of these?"
Walter said nothing.
VANCE: "What are you going to do? Call the mayor?"
The deputy laughed along with him.
DEPUTY COLE: "Maybe he wants to call his lawyer."
VANCE: "Let him. His lawyer can come down here and explain why his client thinks he can behave like this."
Walter watched the sheriff turn the phone over in his hand.
WALTER: "I'd like that back."
VANCE: "You'll get it when I'm finished."
The sheriff tossed the phone onto the desk. It slid across a stack of reports and stopped beside a half-empty coffee cup.
Then Vance leaned forward.
VANCE: "Listen carefully, old man. I don't know who you think you are, and I don't care. You were involved in an incident. You were brought here because my officers say you refused to cooperate. If you keep making this difficult, you're going to spend the rest of the day in a holding cell."
WALTER: "I haven't refused anything."
VANCE: "You refused to leave the diner."
WALTER: "I was sitting at a table."
VANCE: "You were told to leave."
WALTER: "After you pulled me out of my seat."
Vance straightened.
VANCE: "Watch your mouth."
The sheriff's voice echoed through the interview room. Beyond the glass partition, an administrative clerk glanced up from her computer. She could hear the raised voices, but she could not see the full scene from her desk.
Walter shifted slightly in the chair.
His head hurt. His shoulder hurt. His wrists were beginning to feel numb from the pressure of the handcuffs. But he remained focused.
He was not trying to win an argument.
He was waiting for the right moment.
The sheriff picked up a report from the desk and flipped through its pages.
VANCE: "According to this, you became aggressive at the diner."
WALTER: "Who wrote that?"
VANCE: "My deputy."
WALTER: "Did he see what happened?"
Vance looked up.
VANCE: "You don't get to question my officers."
WALTER: "Then I suppose nobody does."
The sheriff threw the report back onto the desk.
VANCE: "You're making a serious mistake."
Walter's expression remained unchanged.
WALTER: "I believe you made yours this morning."
For the second time, Vance seemed unable to decide whether he was more offended by the words or by the calmness with which they were delivered.
He stepped toward Walter and gripped the back of the chair.
VANCE: "You think being old gives you the right to challenge me?"
WALTER: "No."
VANCE: "Then what gives you that right?"
Walter looked directly at him.
WALTER: "The truth."
The sheriff released the chair and walked toward the door. He paused before leaving.
VANCE: "Cole, keep him here. Don't let him wander around, and don't let him make any calls."
DEPUTY COLE: "Understood."
Vance left the room.
The door closed behind him.
For several seconds, the only sound was the ventilation system running above the ceiling tiles.
Deputy Cole remained near the desk, watching Walter. He had been working under Vance for nearly four years. He knew the sheriff's habits, his temper, and the unwritten rules that governed the station. He had learned that questioning the sheriff in front of other officers was a good way to lose privileges, assignments, or eventually his job.
But even Cole had noticed something strange about the old man.
Walter was injured, handcuffed, and surrounded by armed officers. Yet he did not look frightened in the way most people did when they realized they had lost control of a situation.
He looked patient.
Cole moved toward the desk and picked up the battered phone.
DEPUTY COLE: "You really think this thing is going to help you?"
WALTER: "It might."
DEPUTY COLE: "Who are you calling? Your family?"
Walter did not answer.
DEPUTY COLE: "You should have thought about that before you decided to argue with the sheriff."
Walter looked at him.
WALTER: "Do you know what happened at the diner?"
DEPUTY COLE: "I know what the sheriff told me."
WALTER: "That's not what I asked."
Cole shifted his weight.
DEPUTY COLE: "I wasn't there."
WALTER: "Then you don't know."
The deputy frowned. He had expected anger, insults, perhaps a threat. He had not expected the old man to sound almost disappointed.
DEPUTY COLE: "You want to tell me what happened?"
WALTER: "I was sitting in a booth. I was drinking coffee. The sheriff pulled me out of my seat. I fell. I hit my head. Then your people brought me here."
DEPUTY COLE: "That's your version."