As a rule, I found that they always wanted to engage me in conversation. Usually, these conversations were several decibels louder than was necessary in an enclosed environment.
Sometimes they would (indirectly) inquire about my family tree, my DNA, whether my parents were married, or about my relationship with my mother. Some would suggest I try out some new forms of self gratification, or suggest I could help them with theirs.
Some would wonder what “real” crimes might be happening at that very moment which might require my immediate attention, rather than attending to them.
A few mentioned they knew where I lived, and a couple mentioned they knew where my children went to school.
Some mentioned names of people who might be mutual acquaintances of ours, (the chief, the mayor, their uncle the state representative). One said he knew an Officer Bruno, who happened to be a good friend of his, and he would be mad at me for arresting him. (THAT was interesting.)
Many reminded me that they were my employer by virtue of being a taxpayer. Some told me I would soon be unemployed, or predict I would soon be sued out of existence.
And then there were those who asked me (and were answered at least 4 times while driving 5 miles) why they were arrested, or why didn’t I read them their rights. Or they would boast of the skills of their attorney, and indicate they had gotten off so many previous criminal arrests that they were unperturbed by the current one. Or that they made more money than I, so they could easily afford any fine that might be imposed.
Some spent the transit time by covering the plexiglass screen behind my head with saliva. Some cried. Some did all the above.
And a few, with whom I had prior (and repeated) professional encounters, asked how I was doing that day, and if I could put that “Top Gun” cassette in the squad stereo for them. Those were the ones who knew me the best.
So, yeah. We talked.