"Inspector Vance," Hall said, taking a step forward and extending a hand, though his eyes remained fixed on the wet paperwork. "I was told there was a passenger disturbance on Flight 814."
"There was no disturbance, Mr. Hall," I said, gesturing to the seat beside me. "There was an attempt to destroy federal audit records documenting a fraudulent maintenance sign-off executed under employee login 48109 at zero-four-thirty this morning in Charlotte. The sign-off allowed this aircraft to depart with a locked-open fuel shutoff valve, directly violating the minimum equipment list for extended overwater routing."
Hall turned his head slowly, looking at Victoria Sterling.
Victoria took half a step backward, toward the empty jumpseat. "Mr. Hall, she's misrepresenting the sequence. Evans asked me to enter the tracking code while he handled the cargo latch. The line was cleared by phone—"
"Evans didn't have the authorization to clear a Class-A fuel discrepancy by phone, Victoria," Hall said, his voice flat, completely stripped of the corporate deference he had entered with. "And neither did you."
The police officer took half a step forward, his posture shifting from passive observation to an active, formal presence. "Inspector," the officer said, nodding toward me. "Do you require an immediate formal statement taken on board, or will you accompany us to the station office?"
I looked down at the orange juice dried across the fabric of my skirt, then at the damp yellow carbon slip bearing Victoria Sterling's identification code. The ink had smeared along the bottom edge where the moisture had pooled, but the numbers remained sharp, clear, and indelible.
"We will do this in the station office, Officer," I said, closing the binder with a firm, deliberate snap. "And we will begin by impounding the dispatch terminals for both the Charlotte and Atlanta morning shifts."
CHAPTER 3: The Ramp Log Sealed At Noon