The clock changed to midnight. Naomi drew a certified document from the folder, checked the effective time against the wall clock, and placed it on the counter. Frank added the county board's accompanying appointment resolution. The seal looked almost plain under the fluorescent lights.
"As of this moment," Naomi said, "the appointment is effective."
Puit looked down. His eyes reached the name before they reached the title. LENNOX HARGROVE. SHERIFF OF RIDLEY COUNTY. EFFECTIVE MONDAY, 12:00 A.M.
"That can't be right," Wade said before he could stop himself.
Frank looked at him. "It is right. The county board voted on Friday. The documents were executed and the transition was scheduled publicly for tomorrow morning, but the effective time is stated here."
"He never told us," Wade whispered.
No one answered. Cara felt an astonishing rush of relief followed almost instantly by shame. The man in the interview room would now be released because he held a title she had not known about, and the realization did nothing to excuse what had happened when she believed he was an ordinary driver without influence.
Puit read the document again. His face remained almost entirely still, but one hand closed against the edge of the counter. Naomi had worked with him often enough to recognize the gesture. It meant he was trying to calculate whether there was still a way to control the next conversation.
"Bring Mr. Hargrove out," she said. "And preserve the custody records as they exist right now."
A deputy went down the corridor. Lennox heard the lock turn and saw a uniformed man he did not recognize standing in the doorway. For a moment he wondered whether the captain had returned with another document to sign. Then the deputy stepped aside.
"Sir," he said. "The county attorney is here. You're free to come out."
Lennox stood slowly. He had spent enough time in interview rooms to know that a person could mistake the opening of a door for the end of a problem. He picked up his coat, checked that the cuffs had left no serious injury to his wrists, and followed the deputy into the main office. Every head turned toward him.
He saw Naomi first. She gave him the small nod of someone acknowledging that the thing they had hoped to prevent had already happened. Then he saw Frank, the new appointment document on the counter, and Wade standing a few feet behind his captain with his face drained of color.
"Sheriff Hargrove," Naomi said, handing him a copy. "Your commission is now in effect."
"Thank you," Lennox answered.
He did not smile. He did not look at the badge on Puit's chest or offer his hand. He looked instead at the evidence table, the bag around the black case, and the equipment tag on the seized camera. His eyes stayed on the damaged-evidence notation long enough for several people to notice.
"Sheriff," Puit began, "if we'd known who you were, none of this would have happened."
"I know," Lennox said. "That's the problem."
The room held its breath. Lennox had imagined this moment during the hours behind the interview-room door, but he had not imagined feeling so tired. He wanted his son, his father's photograph, a hot shower, and a night in which no one had tried to persuade him that the truth should be traded for convenience.