“Man… Fuck. That’s gotta suck, huh? I mean your brother’s life just gets extinguished. Poof. And whoever did it to him is just walking around. I mean that’s really gotta chap your ass. Especially, someone as familiar with the justice system as you. But hey, then again on your side of the aisle, it’s your job to defend those very types. I mean, hell, for all you know, you’ve helped that same person out of a pickle right under your nose. I mean, it could be anybody, right? That’s statistically possible, isn’t it, counselor?” Sheriff Stevens ends his line of questioning with an up-pitch in his voice and his head cocked, waiting for an answer.

Bob is now a shade of red, typically reserved only for fire trucks or perhaps the inside of a volcano. He sits silently for a long time while his legs slowly start to bounce again. The room becomes thick and dense—like the night air right before it is about to snow. Finally, Bob lets out a long breath and a single tear begins to well up in his left eye, mere centimeters from the vein in his forehead that seems poised to blow.

“Sheriff… I am here for questioning under your supervision voluntarily. I am not under arrest and have not been charged with any crime. As such it is my constitutional right to both refrain from answering any questions as well as leave under my own power and not to be restrained or kept against my will. I am, of course, happy to comply and cooperate with law enforcement in any manner where I could be of assistance in the pursuit of lawful justice, and as such, am more than willing to answer any further questions, in writing, submitted to my office. As a civil servant, I thank you for your time, and I will be leaving now.” Bob then stands and leaves without looking at Sheriff Stevens.

“Excuse me, sir—but we aren’t done…” Sheriff Stevens blurts out, but the door is already closing, and the words fail to reach their target as if frozen in midair and then shattered to pieces on the ground. I quickly stand up and open the door to the hallway.

Bob walks past me. He sees me but continues without a word, knowing full well that I witnessed everything. He gives me a look of contempt so deep that I can actually feel pain from the cut he surely hoped it would make in me.

Sheriff Stevens comes out looking down at the floor. He stops for a moment and then turns to me, looking for some sort of affirmation for his line of questioning.

“What the fuck was that?” I say to him.

“He wasn’t helpful.”