"That man is a trespassing suspect," he said finally. "I have an active case."
He listened again. "I don't need anyone telling me how to run my department."
Whatever the deputy marshal replied made Harlon stop talking altogether. He glanced toward the intake room, then at Gloria, and returned the receiver to its cradle so carefully that she knew the conversation had frightened him. For twenty years she had seen him slam phones, throw pens, and bark orders into the hallway. She had never seen him end a call as though the sound of the receiver might be recorded and played back in court.
"Where's the server for the booking cameras?" he asked.
"Back equipment room. Same place it's been."
"I need access."
Gloria looked at him. This was a question she could answer in two ways, and she knew the wrong one might invite a request she would not be willing to carry out. "The recording system is managed through county IT now," she said. "It sends encrypted copies off-site throughout the day. We don't control the backup from this building."
"Since when?"
"Since the upgrade last fiscal year. You signed the purchase request."
Harlon stared at her. His attention turned inward, racing backward through documents he had approved because the money came from a grant and technology proposals bored him. He had assumed the county's systems remained as manageable as its personnel. The realization that recordings might already exist outside his reach made his jaw work without sound.
"Get me Callaway," he said.
Gloria dialed the mayor's office. Richard Callaway had been mayor of Oak Haven for twelve years, but his relationship with Harlon went back much farther, to county auctions, political breakfasts, and the days when both men were young enough to mistake cleverness for immunity. Callaway spoke softly, smiled in every photograph, and rarely signed the documents that mattered most. He had made himself useful to powerful people by keeping certain financial arrangements out of conversations that could be recorded.
When the sheriff explained that a sitting federal judge had been detained and federal marshals were coming, Callaway was silent for a long time. Then he asked a question Gloria could hear even from where she sat: "How much of this is on camera?"
Harlon looked toward the booking monitor. "I don't know."
"Then you're telling me you arrested a federal judge, injured him, and can't tell me what's been recorded?" The mayor's voice had lost its customary warmth. "For God's sake, Wade, stop talking. Get a lawyer and don't touch another file."
Harlon slammed the receiver down after that. Gloria heard him return to his office, open his filing cabinet, and begin moving papers from one drawer to another. She could tell he was not simply searching for counsel's number because of the scraping sound of a small shredder beginning to work. For the first time in twenty years, she considered walking down the hallway and telling him that everything he was doing could make the situation worse.
She remained at her desk. But she opened the dispatch system and printed the original 12:47 call record, the time-stamped response log, and the entries relating to the Lincoln's requested tow. She placed the pages in a labeled folder and began a written note stating which records she had personally created. She was not yet brave enough to confront Harlon, but she was no longer willing to make it easier for him to change the past.