Silence settled over the room.
The clerk removed her glasses and stood. The deputy at the computer pushed back from the screen like it had suddenly gotten hot.
Miller faced the sheriff’s office. His voice shook.
“Sir,” he called. “Sir, you need to come out here. Right now.”
Voss came out of his office with an irritated scowl, ready to chew somebody out.
Then he saw the credential case in Miller’s trembling hand.
His face changed so fast that even the deputies standing next to him noticed. The swagger went out of his shoulders.
“That’s impossible,” he muttered. He seized the identification and examined both sides under the lights, as though hunting for proof it was fake.
Before he could say another word, my phone lit up again on the booking desk. The screen showed a preview of the message from Chief Judge Brennan’s secure line, and Miller was close enough to read it.
