I waited some more. I went up to the entrance, and the officer told me to go back and wait in my car. I went back and waited some more. Then the other officer I had first encountered came back, trudging purposefully across the lush lawn of the circle framing the entrance; I thought he was bringing my license, but he wasn't; he wanted to take my vehicle registration card to copy as well! He assured me they would be returned.
More waiting. The guard with the patrol van moved it; he parked next to my car, then got out, lounged against his van; his squawk box chattered; it was a beautiful day: just comfortably warm, blue skies with puffy clouds, dry air, a rarity in early September in the Hudson Valley. I was wasting it.
Another guard, and a sergeant (white shirt, shoulder stripes), sauntered up to the guard's van--on the other side from me. They chatted good-naturedly about baseball to each other; I think it was about the Yankees.
The guard with the van told me: "They've called the State Police. It depends on what they decide before you get your license back."
I still wasn't panicked, I'm not sure why. The calm of someone who knew he was innocent?
Then, out came the guard who had taken my license and registration, followed by the Watch Commander and several other guards.
The Watch Commander questioned me again. This time, I figured I'd better come clean. I told him about the book, about wanting a cover image for it. I also told him where to find the book: at smashwords.com. And I told him, "I'll just have to buy an image on the web, a generic prison picture."
Finally, the State Police arrived. At first, a detective, in casual clothes, asked the same questions, while a uniformed cop took notes.
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