"I'll see that the Army supports him properly," Pek said. "But the criminal investigation belongs to civilian authorities, and we won't interfere with their work." Simone appreciated the distinction. She needed lawyers, medical attention, preserved records, and a commanding officer willing to verify Nathaniel's identity without turning the matter into an unauthorized display of military power. Pek promised to notify the appropriate legal advisers and arrange to travel as soon as he could.
The news reached Ruthie Langford before anyone in the family had decided how to tell her. A neighbor called to say she had seen a police cruiser take someone away on the road by Grace Fellowship Church and thought the man resembled Nathaniel. Ruthie stood in her kitchen holding the phone, surrounded by ingredients for the peach cobbler she intended to make the next day. She asked only two questions: was her son alive, and where was he being held.
Simone called a few minutes later. Ruthie listened, her hand resting on the worn edge of the kitchen counter. Then she thanked her daughter-in-law for telling her and hung up without crying. She put the peaches back into the refrigerator, washed the flour from her hands, and sat at the table where Thomas used to read the evening paper. For the first time in years, she found herself staring at the same empty chair with the same anger she had felt after the day in 1971 when Thomas came home with bruises and a broken rib.
At the station, Chief Howard Kirkland arrived less than an hour after Nathaniel's arrest. He was fifty-nine, broad through the middle, and accustomed to a department where no one contradicted him openly. His father had been a deputy, and for much of his career he had worked under Dale Cheney, Brett's father, who had once run Carthage's police force as though it were a family business. Kirkland knew which city council members wanted certain neighborhoods watched, which residents never filed complaints, and which old friendships could make unpleasant paperwork disappear.
Cheney caught him outside his office. "Picked up a fellow north of town," he said. "Nice Escalade, mouthy passenger, drugs under the seat. Driver made a fuss but didn't interfere." Kirkland asked whether the man had been hurt.
Cheney shrugged. "Little scrape from going to the ground. Nothing serious."
The chief examined Nathaniel's identification at the booking desk. He saw the photograph, the Department of Defense credentials, and the rank information, but he did not call the issuing office to verify it. To do that would have meant questioning Cheney's judgment, and in Kirkland's department the easier habit was to accept the senior officer's account first and fit the other facts around it later. "Anybody can claim to be somebody important," he said, handing the card back. "Follow normal procedure."