"Why didn't you tell them after the case was opened?" she asked.
"By then I knew the encounter had become more than a traffic violation. I was afraid a phone call from me would make the record disappear before anyone independent could examine it. I may have been wrong about the risk. But that was my reasoning."
Renata wrote it down. "We investigate what officers did, not whether you made the most comfortable choice available to you. Still, I'm going to ask hard questions about the timeline."
"Good," Lennox said. "Ask all of them."
The sky was beginning to lighten when he went outside to the secured lot. The Bentley had been towed behind the building and covered against the rain, but the temporary protection had been lifted for evidence photographs. Through the opening where the passenger window had been, he could see Samuel's picture lying face down against the ruined seat. He wanted to reach in and retrieve it, to straighten the bent corner and put it where it belonged.
The evidence custodian standing nearby told him the interior had not yet been released. Lennox thanked her and stepped back. It would have been easy to ask her to make an exception for the new sheriff, and she probably would have complied. Instead he took a photograph of the car from outside the scene boundary and let the picture remain where investigators needed it.
He called Miles as the first birds began to move in the trees behind the lot. His son answered on the second ring, voice thick with sleep. For a second neither spoke, and Lennox heard hotel air conditioning and a distant door closing.
"Dad?"
"I'm here, son. I'm sorry I missed the game."
"Where were you?"
"I was stopped on the highway. The stop became a serious problem, and I was at the sheriff's office most of the night. I'm safe now."
Miles sat up on the other end of the call. "Are you hurt?"
"No serious injuries. I'm tired. The car is damaged, and I'll explain when we're together."
"We lost by four," Miles said after a pause. "I had eleven assists."
Lennox laughed. The sound came out unexpectedly, half joy and half relief, and turned his eyes wet. "Eleven? You usually save that many for two games."
"Coach said I made the right reads."
"He was right."
"I kept looking at the door," Miles admitted.
Lennox leaned against the cold brick wall. There was no report he could write that would make this part less painful. "I know," he said. "I told you I'd be there, and I wasn't. I'm sorry. I should have found a way to get a message to you sooner."
"Were the police mean to you?"
Lennox looked across the lot at the ruined car. He did not want to turn his son's fear into anger with details he could not explain over a phone. He also would not lie to him.
"They treated me badly. Some people in that department tried to hide what happened. Other people helped preserve the truth. We'll talk through all of it when I see you."