Careful not to make contact.
Samuel watched him.
He watched Connor’s eyes travel across the document.
He watched the slight adjustment in the officer’s jaw when the language registered.
Then came the moment when the name on the deed connected with the man standing behind the counter.
The connection produced something Connor had not planned for.
Doubt.
It was small.
It lasted less than a second before his expression closed over it.
But it had been there.
Samuel saw it.
The woman recording had probably seen it.
Marcus had definitely seen it.
“This could be anything,” Connor said.
His voice had changed.
It was still firm, but there was a new quality beneath it.
Something working harder than it had a minute earlier.
“I can’t verify this on site.”
“The county recorder’s number is at the bottom,” Samuel said. “You’re welcome to call.”
“I don’t need you to tell me what I’m welcome to do.”
“No,” Samuel agreed. “You don’t.”
The simplicity of the answer seemed to irritate Connor more than an argument would have.
He picked up the business license.
Finally touching the paperwork was itself a kind of concession.
Connor tilted the document as though a different angle might reveal something wrong with it.
The seal caught the fluorescent light and cast a small reflection across his chin.
He put it back down.
Then he picked up the deed.
The room seemed to lean toward him.
Not physically.
Attention simply had weight.
And the attention of everyone watching the same thing created a kind of pressure even the least self-aware person could eventually feel.
Connor held the deed for a long moment.
His eyes moved across it again.
Slower this time.
The notary stamp.
The legal property description.
The date of transfer.
Samuel A. Benson.
Connor placed the deed back on the counter.
Not neatly.
It landed at a slight angle, one corner overlapping the business license.
Samuel reached forward and straightened it without saying a word.
The gesture was so natural and so proprietary that it communicated everything the documents had already said.
Only quieter.
Connor looked at Samuel.
Samuel looked back.
“I’m going to need to make a call,” Connor said.
He stepped away from the counter and unclipped his radio.
The motion was practiced.
The movement of a man buying time while appearing to take action.
Connor gave his unit number and requested a records check on the business license.
He read the license number aloud with slow, deliberate enunciation, making sure the room heard how thorough he was being.
Samuel noticed Connor did not read the name from the deed.
He also noticed that the officer no longer looked at the documents.
Dispatch responded through the radio in a burst of static.
Connor listened.
He nodded once at nothing.
Then he clipped the radio back onto his uniform.
“That’s going to take a few minutes.”