He'd done this before. Agent Monroe's voice crackled through the precinct's main phone line for the third time in an hour. This is senior FBI agent Monroe. I need to speak with your commanding officer immediately. The desk sergeant's response was rehearsed.
Sorry, sir. Sheriff's out of town. Can't help you. This is a federal matter. Click.
The line went dead. Back in the evidence room, Faulner pulled up a chair, sitting backwards on it to face Trina. You know what happens to people who threaten our operation. He pulled out his knife, using it to clean under his fingernails. They tend to disappear.
Lots of deep woods around here. Lots of hungry animals. Trina's muscles tensed imperceptibly. She'd mapped four possible exits, noted the weak point in her handcuffs, counted the steps to the door. She just needed the right moment.
Officer Diaz walked past the evidence room for the third time, his conscience eating at him. Through the door's window, he saw Faulner press his knife against Trina's throat. Diaz's hand instinctively moved to his phone, then dropped away. Who could he even call? The whole department was corrupt.
Still nothing to say? Faulner pressed the flat of the blade harder, leaving a white line across her dark skin. "No FBI buddies coming to save you? No backup team about to burst in?" Trina met his gaze steadily. Her silence more powerful than any words.
She could smell the fear beneath his bravado, the desperate smell of a man who knew his time was running out. Faulner stood abruptly, shoving the chair away. He paced the room like a caged animal, growing more agitated by her continued silence. "You think you're tough? You think you can wait us out?"
He grabbed her jaw roughly. "Nobody knows you're here. Nobody's coming for you. And by tomorrow, nobody will even remember you existed. Rusk appeared in the doorway, his face shiny with nervous sweat.
All the footage is gone. Clean as it gets. Good. Faulner released Trina's face, wiping his hand on his uniform as if touching her had dirtied it. Get the van ready.
We move her tonight. The room grew darker as the sun set outside, shadows creeping across the floor like spilled ink. Trina's lip had split open again, drops of blood falling steadily onto the concrete, the metallic smell mixed with the musty evidence room air. Faulner leaned down, his lips almost touching her ear. You're not getting out of this town.
You know too much. His whisper was barely audible as he straightened up and walked to the door. The lock clicked behind him with grim finality, leaving Trina alone in the darkness as her blood continued to drip onto the cold floor. The moonlight cast long shadows through the precinct windows as Officer Miguel Diaz stood outside the evidence room, his hand hovering over the door handle. Inside, he heard Trina cough, a wet, painful sound that made his stomach twist.