His younger partner, Kyle Brennan, had been a deputy for a little over two years. Brennan had joined the department hoping to earn a place in the investigations unit and had decided early that Crawford's approval was the safest route there. He knew the senior deputy made comments about race that were impossible to explain as harmless jokes. He disliked the comments, but he laughed at some anyway, and each laugh made the next one easier.
"Breakfast?" Crawford asked as they passed the diner.
"Sure."
"Loretta's got the usual crowd in there. Maybe we'll see something worth doing."
Brennan thought it was a joke. He did not think so later, when he spent nights reviewing the words he had ignored and wondering whether any one of them had offered him a chance to act differently.
The cruiser pulled into the gravel lot and parked beside the rental Nissan. Crawford noticed the out-of-state-looking temporary paperwork in the windshield and then noticed the men at the window booth. He did not recognize either face. That alone seemed to offend him, as though strangers had crossed an invisible boundary and expected the county to welcome them without inspection.
The doorbell rang. Frank Tiller raised a hand in greeting, and Arthur Finch folded his newspaper long enough to nod. Loretta reached for a clean mug before Crawford said a word. Janelle noticed that the room changed when he entered: customers adjusted their posture and made space around him, anticipating his preferences in a way they did not for anyone else.
"Morning, Russell," Loretta said. "The usual?"
"Black and strong. You know me."
She filled the mug. Crawford took a swallow, then looked toward the brothers again, making no effort to disguise his stare. Brennan followed the direction of his gaze and smiled uncertainly.
"Who are those two?" Crawford asked.
"Travelers, I think. Just stopped for breakfast."
"Travelers from where?"
"Didn't ask."
Crawford gave her a look. "You ought to be more careful who you let walk in off the highway."
Loretta wanted to tell him that people traveling off the highway were what kept roadside diners in business. Instead she turned to the register and made a show of organizing receipts. She saw him lift his coffee and cross the room, and something in her stomach tightened.
Malcolm noticed the uniform first, then the deliberate slowness with which the deputy approached. He had seen officers enter public buildings a thousand times. Most looked for a place to sit or for the person who had called them. This man looked for someone to confront, and he was looking directly at Malcolm.
"You boys from around here?" Crawford asked.
Malcolm set down his fork. "Just passing through. Good morning."
"Didn't ask you whether it was good. Asked where you're from."
Elijah's smile disappeared. Malcolm could feel his brother's attention sharpen beside him. He wiped his mouth and answered that they had come from their mother's house and were on their way toward Richmond.