“I don't need a criminal to explain procedure to me,” she said.
A father near the edge of the gathering answered before he could stop himself. “Then verify him.”
Diane looked toward the voice. “Everybody stand back.”
“No one's touching you,” the father said. “People are asking you to check.”
Her radio crackled. “Unit Twelve, Kessler, respond.”
Diane pressed the button. “Unit Twelve. I have an adult male in custody for suspected impersonation of a federal officer outside Ashford Country Day. Scene under control.”
“Copy. We have multiple calls about that incident. Identify the subject.”
“Marcus David Bell.”
There was a pause. Diane could hear faint voices on the other end, another dispatcher speaking to someone out of range. She was suddenly aware of how many people had gone quiet to listen. The officer looked toward the trash can and wished, briefly and fiercely, that she had put the wallet in her patrol vehicle instead.
“Unit Twelve,” dispatch said, “have you confirmed the status of the credential he presented?”
“It's a counterfeit. I've dealt with this type before.”
“Have you verified that through any issuing agency?”
Diane tightened her grip on the radio. “I examined it myself.”
“That's not my question. Do you have the credential available for a verification request?”
Diane swallowed. “It's at the scene.”
“Is it in your possession?”
She hesitated. “I discarded it.”
“Please repeat.”
“I put it in the trash can. It was fake.”
The dispatcher did not respond immediately. A second voice joined the channel, calmer and more senior, and asked Diane to confirm the subject's full name and identifying information. Marcus supplied his date of birth when requested, speaking toward the radio without trying to move. The dispatcher relayed that the district office of the Marshals Service had requested immediate contact and that a duty supervisor was verifying the identification.
Diane looked toward Zoe, then toward the adults filming, and felt her heartbeat become loud in her ears. The world she understood had been arranged around her making decisions and other people complying. Now other people were deciding what would happen next, and no amount of raising her voice could bring the authority back.
“Unit Twelve,” the senior dispatcher said. “We have a positive identity confirmation from the United States Marshals Service district office for Deputy U.S. Marshal Marcus D. Bell. A Marshals Service supervisor has confirmed he is an active deputy assigned to the district. Do not take further enforcement action on the impersonation allegation. Remove the restraints and await your field supervisor.”
Diane stared at the radio. “There must be a mix-up.”
“There is no indication of a counterfeit credential. Stand down and request medical assistance if needed. The subject is verified. Do you copy?”
The fountain continued to run. A child dropped a water bottle, and the small plastic thud sounded impossibly loud. Diane keyed the microphone, but for several seconds she could not find words. Finally she said, “Copy,” in a voice barely recognizable as her own.
Marcus closed his eyes again, this time in relief. The truth was not enough to undo what Zoe had seen, but it meant the next thing his daughter watched might be her father walking toward her. That mattered more to him than the fear beginning to spread across the officer's face.