Amanda’s voice squawked from the speaker on the table. “Can you see me waving my hand?”
“No, ma’am.” Agent Nick Shelton, head of the field station, didn’t touch the laptop in front of him. Instead, he jammed his fingers into his eyes as he shook his head. “I’m trying everything I can. Are you sure it’s not on your end?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Amanda snapped. “I can’t see anything but the GBI logo. There’s no video at all.”
Nick shook his head at Faith. He held out his hand to Will.
“Agent Trent.”
“Is Will there?” Amanda asked. “I can’t see a thing.”
Will tried to make his voice as strong as he could. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Why are you whispering?”
Faith said, “Because he was nearly strangled to death.”
Amanda showed her usual concern. “Sit close to the speaker, then. I don’t want to have to ask you to repeat yourself every two minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m going to have a word with that idiot who set up my computer,” Amanda complained. “He’s been out here three times, and it stops working the minute he leaves.”
Faith couldn’t help herself. “You know you can catch more flies with honey.”
“Yes, Faith, thank you. That’s exactly what I need is more flies.”
Will slumped into a chair as the two women exchanged more helpful suggestions. The table was set up for a formal meeting. Five bottles of water were in front of five chairs. Notepads and pens were laid out beside them. Will had been at a lot of briefings where a lot of cops lost their jobs, but he felt sorry about this one. Denise Branson had made a career-ending mistake, but she’d probably done it for reasons she felt were right.
It was just a matter of time before Lena Adams did the same.
Will looked at the digital clock on the wall: 3:01 in the morning. He should be exhausted. Maybe the caffeine in the Cokes had sparked him up. Or maybe his body had finally accepted the fact that he was going to live.
He stared at the water bottles Faith had shoved into his hands. One was about a quarter empty. Will’s mouth was bone-dry, but just thinking about taking another drink made his throat hurt. He felt like he was drowning in the ocean.
The door opened. Nick stood up. “Ma’am, Chief Gray and Major Branson have entered the room.”
Denise Branson was no longer in her shiny uniform. She wore jeans and a loose-fitting blouse. Her previously erect posture was gone. There was something beaten down about her. The leather briefcase was the only indication that she was the same woman they’d talked with in Atlanta yesterday morning.
For his part, Lonnie Gray was decked out in full regalia. His gold epaulets glimmered in the overhead light. He carried his hat under his arm. He was older, but had the look of a guy who started his day with a hundred push-ups before the sun came up. He also looked furious as hell. His mouth was a barely visible white line under his mustache. His forehead was furrowed like a plowed field.
They all shook hands. Will stayed in his chair, hoping they would understand.
“Chief Gray,” Amanda said. “I’m sorry for the technical difficulties. I’m doing the Skype program from my home.”
Will didn’t know which was worse, the photo of Amanda playing tennis or the thought of her talking to them in her nightgown.
“That’s fine.” Lonnie Gray sat across from Will. He did a double take. So did Denise Branson. She slowly sank into the chair beside her chief, lips parted in surprise.
Will guessed he was going to have to get used to people staring at him for a while.
Nick said, “Ma’am, we’re all seated.”
“Thank you,” Amanda said. “Lonnie, my condolences on your son. I hadn’t heard that he passed away.”
“Thank you.” Gray obviously didn’t want to talk about his personal life. He quickly got down to business. “Mandy, I want to apologize to you, your agents, and your agency for the actions of one rogue officer. Rest assured, my house will be put in order.” He shot Branson a look. “Starting now.”
“I appreciate that, Lonnie.” Amanda didn’t sound like she appreciated it at all. “Major Branson, I need to inform you that because you are officially under investigation, this conversation is being recorded. Anything you say may be used against you. You’re entitled to an attorney—”
“I don’t need an attorney,” Branson said, though they all knew she did. “Give me the form.”
Nick was prepared. He pushed a sheet of paper over to Branson so she could officially acknowledge that she’d been Mirandized.
Branson didn’t read the form. She’d probably seen it thousands of times. She clicked the pen and signed her name on the line before pushing the paper back toward Nick.
Lonnie Gray gave her a nod to begin.
Branson didn’t start immediately—not because she was playing games again, but because she probably knew this was the last briefing she would ever give.
Finally, she took a deep breath and jumped in. “Approximately three and a half weeks ago, Detective Adams came to me about a suspected shooting gallery off Redding Street. I authorized her to investigate. She monitored the house for a few days and determined the intelligence was good.” Branson paused. She started playing with the ballpoint pen, balancing it between two fingers. “During the course of surveillance, Detective Adams realized that the shooting gallery was being run by a man named Sidney Waller.”
Gray took over. “Waller’s an extremely violent, high-level drug runner. When I came in two years ago, my number one priority was capturing and prosecuting him. Even with the full force of the department behind it, we were never able to make any charges stick.”
Will thought it was pretty decent of the man to acknowledge his failure.
Branson seemed to appreciate it, too. She nodded at him before continuing. “We knew we could shut down the shooting gallery pretty quickly, but with Sid Waller involved, we saw an opportunity. I spoke with Detective Adams and decided that we should expand the operation with the goal of capturing and convicting Waller.”
Gray provided, “This was where I came in. We got the DA on our side, formed an intra-agency task force. There were a lot of moving pieces. Denise and I had to coordinate together.”
Will saw Branson flinch when he used her first name rather than her rank. Still, she said, “We were ten days into the operation when we realized that catching Waller was unlikely. We couldn’t turn anyone. People were terrified of him. The junkies went to ground. No one would wear a wire. It was looking like we would have to go into the house and settle on rounding up whomever we could find. We could time it so Waller was there, but that wasn’t much of a consolation.”
Amanda said, “Because you couldn’t prove that Waller was in charge, he’d bond out with the rest of the junkies.” She sounded impatient. “But obviously, something changed?”
Branson said, “Detective Adams was contacted by a confidential informant. He was in lockup for selling pills to Mercer students. Not on campus, but at one of the coffee shops.”
The distinction was important. Sale or distribution of illegal substances inside a school zone jacked up the prison time exponentially.