“I'm telling you that I have a federal arrest warrant.”
“Let me see it.”
“No.”
His expression changed.
“You're refusing to show me a warrant?”
“I'm refusing to hand sensitive federal documents to someone whose name appears in the investigation.”
Maddox's face went pale for half a second.
Then his anger returned.
“What investigation?”
Evelyn simply looked at him.
He leaned over the table.
“What investigation?”
She didn't answer.
Maddox turned toward the door.
“Get me the chief.”
Evelyn nodded.
“That's exactly who I was hoping to speak with.”
Chapter 2 — Should We Let Her Talk?
Across the corridor, in a separate office, several officers were gathered around a large desk.
The room was cluttered with case folders, coffee cups, computer monitors, and stacks of paperwork. A wall-mounted television displayed a muted local news broadcast.
At the center of the room stood Chief Raymond Whitaker.
He was sixty-one, a tall white man with carefully combed gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His uniform was immaculate. His badge was polished, his shirt pressed, and his expression usually carried the confidence of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
But that morning, he was not comfortable.
A young officer named Ethan Cole stood beside the desk holding a printed document.
“Chief?”
Whitaker continued reading.
“Not now.”
“Chief, it's about the woman in Interview Room Two.”
Whitaker stopped.
His eyes moved toward the young officer.
“What woman?”
“The older woman in the black suit.”
Whitaker's expression barely changed.
“What about her?”
Ethan hesitated.
“She says she's federal.”
Whitaker slowly lowered the document.
“Who told you that?”
“Detective Maddox.”
“And?”
“He says she's demanding access to the department's internal files.”
Whitaker looked toward the office door.
“Did she identify herself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Name?”
“Evelyn Brooks.”
Whitaker's fingers tightened around the paper.
For a brief moment, he appeared to have forgotten the young officer was standing there.
Then he placed the document on the desk.
“Did you say Evelyn Brooks?”
“Yes, Chief.”
Whitaker turned toward the window.
Outside, patrol vehicles moved through the parking lot. Officers walked between buildings, carrying folders and speaking into radios.
The ordinary rhythm of the department continued.
But Whitaker's attention was no longer on the window.
It was on a name he had hoped never to hear again.
Ethan looked between him and the document.
“Chief?”
Whitaker didn't answer.
“Should we let her talk?”
The chief turned sharply.
“What?”
“Should we let her explain why she's here?”
Whitaker stared at the young officer.
“Who else has spoken to her?”
“Just Detective Maddox, as far as I know.”
“Has she shown him anything?”
Ethan hesitated.
“She said she had a federal arrest warrant.”
The office went silent.
One of the officers stopped typing.
Another slowly lowered his coffee cup.
Whitaker looked at Ethan.
“Did you say a warrant?”
“Yes, sir.”
“For whom?”
“She wouldn't say.”
Whitaker's face tightened.
He reached for his phone.
“Get Maddox on the line.”
Ethan pulled out his radio.
Before he could speak, Whitaker raised a hand.
“No. Don't use the radio.”
“Sir?”
“Call him directly.”
Ethan nodded.
Whitaker looked around the office.
“Everyone out.”
The officers exchanged glances.
“Now.”
Within seconds, the room emptied.
Ethan remained.
Whitaker pointed toward the door.
“You too.”
“But, Chief—”
“Leave.”
Ethan stepped outside.
The chief locked the door.
Then he picked up his phone.
He dialed a number from memory.
The call connected after two rings.
A man's voice answered.
“Whitaker.”
The chief spoke quietly.
“She is here.”
Silence.
Then the man asked:
“Who?”
Whitaker looked at the closed office door.
“Evelyn Brooks.”
The voice on the other end changed.
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.”
Another pause.
“Does she have it?”
Whitaker lowered his voice.