Metal table.
Three chairs.
Fixed camera near the ceiling.
Boyd entered behind her carrying the evidence tray.
He placed it on the table.
Sarah sat.
He sat across from her.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
It looked almost exactly like dozens of interrogation rooms Sarah had seen over her career.
Except usually she had entered them knowing why she was there.
Boyd pushed the tray toward the center.
The secure device rested inside.
“You want to tell me what agency you work for?”
Sarah folded her hands.
“You said government.”
“Which branch?”
“I am not answering employment questions unrelated to your stated charges.”
“You still think you control this conversation.”
“Sure seems that way.”
Sarah watched him.
He removed his sunglasses and placed them on his head.
Blue eyes.
Small burst blood vessels around the nose.
A man accustomed to people becoming nervous when he leaned forward.
Sarah had dealt with better interrogators.
Far better.
“You know what your problem is?” Boyd asked.
“You think because you’re educated and from Washington, people like me are stupid.”
“I have not called you stupid.”
“You don't have to.”
“I have described your decisions.”
“There.”
“That attitude.”
“Sheriff, if disagreement sounds like disrespect to you, authority is going to make you very unhappy.”
His mouth tightened.
He suddenly reached across the table and slapped her hand away from the evidence tray though she had not touched it.
“Keep your hands off my evidence.”
Sarah stared at him.
“I was not reaching for it.”
He stood.
She remained seated.
Boyd put one hand on her shoulder and shoved her backward into the chair.
The metal legs scraped loudly.
Sarah’s expression changed for the first time.
Not fear.
Anger.
Controlled immediately.
“Remove your hand.”
Boyd pushed again.
“You don't give me orders.”
Sarah looked directly into his body camera.
“Keep recording.”
His eyes followed hers.
Then he kicked the front leg of her chair sideways.
The chair shifted abruptly.
Sarah planted both feet and caught the table edge before falling.
“Still calm?”
The door opened.
He no longer wore his badge.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you to leave.”
Toby stepped inside.
“You’re done.”
“Excuse me?”
“You hit her at booking.”
“You shoved her.”
“You kicked the chair.”
“And I watched all of it.”
“You planning to arrest me?”
Toby’s jaw tightened.
“Then get out.”
“You okay?”
Boyd slammed the door in his face.
Sarah listened to Toby’s footsteps disappear.
Then she looked at the wall clock.
2:23.
Seven minutes.
Boyd returned to his chair.
“You caused that.”
“He's losing his career because of you.”
“You come through here with your Washington attitude—”
He stopped.
“You are making choices and assigning responsibility for them to everyone except yourself.”
His hand clenched.
“Shut up.”
Sarah did.
That seemed to bother him even more.
At 2:27, more than eighty miles away, Colonel Rebecca Morgan sat at a secure conference table outside Washington.
A classified briefing packet rested in front of her.
Three senior officials were already connected.
Two more waited remotely.
Sarah Hayes’s secure channel remained inactive.
Rebecca checked the time.
Sarah was never late.
At 2:28, Rebecca called Sarah’s standard government phone.
No response.
At 2:29, she called again.
Nothing.
At precisely 2:30, the meeting system automatically recorded the principal participant as unavailable.
Rebecca looked toward the communications technician.
“Locate General Hayes’s secure unit.”
The technician entered authorization.