“My picture is literally on the wall.”
Holloway looked toward it but did not walk closer.
“Those could be old.”
Marcus stared at him.
“Old?”
“Or fake.”
For the first time, Marcus actually laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the accusation had become absurd enough that his frustration briefly escaped as disbelief.
“Officer, why would somebody fabricate a business license, health certificate, liquor license, and magazine article just to sit in a diner drinking coffee?”
Holloway’s face flushed.
“I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I’m running my restaurant.”
“You’re being argumentative.”
“I’m answering your questions.”
“I asked for identification.”
“And I asked what crime you reasonably suspect me of committing.”
Holloway took another step closer.
“I saw suspicious activity.”
“What activity?”
“You were sitting here alone.”
Marcus waited.
“That’s the activity?”
“In an empty business.”
“The business is open.”
“There are no customers.”
“It’s between breakfast and lunch.”
“How do I know that?”
Marcus looked toward the kitchen.
A metal bowl clanged.
His cook called from the back:
“Marcus, you want me to start the collards now?”
Marcus did not take his eyes off Holloway.
“Yes, Darnell. Go ahead.”
Holloway glanced toward the kitchen.
Marcus raised one eyebrow.
“Still think I broke in?”
Holloway did not answer.
Marcus continued.
“You walked in here claiming you know the owner.”
“I know people around here.”
“That’s not what you said.”
Holloway’s jaw tightened.
“You said you know the owner and that the owner doesn’t trust people like me.”
Marcus leaned forward.
“So tell me his name.”
Holloway paused.
That pause told Marcus everything.
“What’s his name, Officer?”
Holloway reached toward his radio.
“I’m calling my supervisor.”
“Please do.”
Marcus’s voice became firmer.
“And make sure you tell them exactly what happened.”
Holloway pressed the radio button.
Marcus picked up his phone.
Not to secretly record.
He did not need to.
Six cameras covered the diner.
Two over the dining room.
One above the front entrance.
One at the register.
One in the hallway.
One over the rear service door.
He had installed them after a break-in attempt six years earlier.
Every word Holloway had said was already being stored on a secure system in the office.
Marcus knew it.
Holloway did not.
Within six minutes, Sergeant Patricia Owens arrived.
Owens had nineteen years on the department.
She had worked patrol, traffic, community relations, and field training before becoming a sergeant.
Experience showed in the way she entered the room.
Not hurried.
Not casual.
Observant.
She looked first at Marcus.
Then Holloway.
Then the room.
Lights on.
Coffee brewing.
Open sign illuminated.
Movement in the kitchen.
No broken doors.
No damaged locks.
No frightened employees.
No disturbance.
She did not need sixty seconds.