Forty-SixThree hours after D’Abro cuffed him, Machuzak found himself in an upstairs cell at the Travis County Central Booking Facility, charged, exactly as she’d threatened, with criminal mischief and capital sabotage. His main impression of the booking procedure was that it was far more elaborate than he would ever have suspected from television, and during the three days of his incarceration his strongest sense was one of detachment, as if the humiliation were being inflicted on another person altogether. His only response to a brown-and-tan uniformed officer’s warning that his fingerprints would “now be in every database from Austin to the FBI” was “My guess is you’re late.” Nor did he react when they threw him, clad in jailhouse grays, into an “open bay” for a suicide watch.
Suicide h
