Colton drove.
For the first few minutes, nobody spoke.
Nathaniel looked through the partition.
His wrists hurt.
He could feel the metal cutting into the skin, but he resisted shifting because unnecessary movement could later be described however an officer wished.
Raymond finally broke the silence.
“Colton, we should run his name.”
“He’ll be booked in ten minutes.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“We caught him at the property.”
“He says it’s his.”
“Everybody says something.”
Nathaniel spoke from the rear seat.
“Officer Ellis.”
Raymond turned.
“Sir?”
Nathaniel had noticed the older officer’s badge.
“Your partner was told by me and a neighbor that I own the residence.”
Raymond looked uncomfortable.
“I heard.”
“He has been provided enough information to verify it.”
“I understand.”
“Then understand something else.”
Nathaniel shifted slightly.
“Whatever happens next, your decisions will be judged separately from his.”
Raymond looked forward.
Colton laughed.
“Listen to this guy.”
Nathaniel said nothing else.
The Bethesda precinct sat in a squat brick building constructed in the late 1970s.
Sunday staffing was light.
Several patrol officers typed reports.
A dispatcher drank coffee near the hallway.
Behind the raised booking counter sat Sergeant Leonard Burke, a fifty-six-year-old veteran who had supervised enough bad arrests to recognize when somebody entered his station with a story that did not fit.
Colton walked Nathaniel inside.
“Got one for you, Sarge.”
Leonard looked up.
“What happened?”
“Caught him casing a house on Hawthorne Ridge.”
Nathaniel looked toward Colton.
Colton continued.
“Wouldn’t provide identification.”
“He provided a name,” Raymond said.
Colton ignored him.
“Claimed he owned the house.”
Leonard looked toward Nathaniel’s sweatshirt and sweatpants.
Then at the red marks around his wrists.
“What’s the address?”
Colton gave it.
Leonard frowned.
“Hawthorne Ridge?”
“Yeah.”
“Which house?”
“The stone one on the corner.”
Leonard knew the property.
Everyone in Bethesda policing did.
Not because they knew Nathaniel personally, but because the residence appeared on protected-address lists relating to federal officials.
Leonard’s expression changed slightly.
“Take the cuffs off.”
Colton looked surprised.
“Sarge—”
“I said remove them.”
The cuffs opened.
Nathaniel brought his arms forward and deliberately rubbed the raw skin.
There were clear red impressions around both wrists.
Leonard noticed.
“Sir, empty your pockets.”
Nathaniel placed a house key on the counter.
Nothing else.
“No phone?”
“It’s inside.”
“No wallet?”
“Inside.”
Colton smiled.
“Exactly.”
Nathaniel looked toward Leonard.
“Sergeant, I am requesting access to a telephone.”