He looked at the floor, his fingers twitching against his trousers. “I had a small stumble near the steps. Robert helped me up.”
I looked back toward the bench in the corner, but Vanessa had already stepped out into the parking lot.
I led my father toward the side hallway where Officer Davis was filing the intake sheet.
“Officer Davis,” I said, stopping three feet from his desk. “Look at this.”
I pulled my father’s sleeve back again, exposing the purple handprint to the bright hallway lights.
Davis glanced at the arm, then looked away toward the water cooler. “People bruise easily at his age, Agent. My grandmother gets marks just from holding her purse.”
“These are defensive grip marks,” I said. “I want a formal medical report taken by your county doctor before we leave this building.”
Davis pulled out a white intake form and began writing on the small desk. His hand was not steady, and he did not look at the badge on his own uniform collar as he filled out the officer identification section.
