Tasha climbed down from her bunk and stood in front of Olivia. For a moment she seemed about to offer the familiar reassurance that everything would work out. Instead, she reached for Olivia's hand and held it tightly. "Whatever happens, don't let them convince you nobody's listening," she said. "Some of us heard you."
Olivia looked at the older nurse whose life had been suspended by a different traffic stop. "I heard you too," she replied.
Outside, the sky had begun to lighten beyond the wire-covered window. A guard called Olivia's name, and the two women stepped apart. The building smelled of coffee and floor cleaner, ordinary things made strange by the possibility that another person could decide where Olivia would be taken without giving her a meaningful explanation. She straightened her borrowed clothing and moved toward the door.
Captain Frank Reed arrived at the county jail at five-thirty wearing the same immaculate uniform he had worn before television cameras. His face was drawn from lack of sleep, though he had shaved carefully and arranged his hair as if appearance could restore the control he felt slipping away. Officer Daniels was not with him. Reed assumed the man had remained with the warehouse transport detail and would provide whatever account became necessary once the shipment reached its destination.
He entered the intake corridor where Olivia waited under supervision. Two officers stood nearby, both younger than Reed and alert to the discomfort his presence created. The transport paperwork rested on a clipboard, unsigned in several places. Reed glanced at it without stopping, then looked at Olivia with the familiar smile that once made juries trust him.
"Eager for your trial, counselor?" he asked.
"Eager for the evidence to be examined," Olivia replied.
He gestured toward the clipboard. "There's been a change in security classification. We're moving you to a state facility until this case settles down."
"My attorney is contesting that transfer. I haven't been shown a lawful basis for it."
"Your attorney can file all the motions he wants." Reed leaned against the wall, his expression carefully casual. "Sometimes the safest place for a high-profile defendant is somewhere the newspapers can't reach."
Olivia looked at the unsigned papers and then at his face. She had not been told about the overnight warehouse operation, but she could see that his confidence was thinner than it had been on Tuesday. He kept checking the corridor beyond the security door, as though somebody he expected had failed to arrive. She decided that he deserved to hear how much his plan had already changed.
"There's a recording from the gas station across Calder Avenue," she said. "It shows Daniels taking something from his jacket and putting it in my trunk."
Reed's expression did not collapse. He had spent too many years controlling his face for that. But he stopped moving, and the almost imperceptible change gave Olivia the answer she needed. "Cameras make mistakes," he said. "Especially in rain."
"Two angles show the same movement. The original recording has been preserved by independent investigators."