“You expect me to believe drugs just appeared under your seat?”
Cynthia’s voice became colder.
“Officer O’Grady, I recommend that you stop and think very carefully about what you are doing.”
He stepped toward her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
His expression hardened.
“You think because you’ve got a nice coat and some fancy rental car you’re smarter than everybody else?”
Cynthia said nothing.
O’Grady pulled handcuffs from his belt.
“Turn around.”
She did.
The cuffs closed around her wrists.
Too tight.
“Cynthia Holloway, you are under arrest for possession of a controlled substance with suspected intent to distribute.”
Cynthia stared at the wet hood of the Taurus.
Her heart was beating hard now.
Not from fear.
From fury.
But she controlled it.
This moment was no longer about proving one officer had planted one bag.
If he had done this so casually, Cynthia wanted to know what came next.
Who accepted his story.
Who questioned it.
Who protected him.
Who had learned not to ask.
O’Grady guided her toward the patrol cruiser.
“Anything you want to say?”
Cynthia looked at him.
“No.”
“Smart.”
He opened the back door.
As she ducked inside, Cynthia thought:
Keep talking.
The interior of the cruiser smelled of old vinyl, disinfectant, and stale coffee.
Cynthia sat with her cuffed hands behind her, shoulders already beginning to ache.
O’Grady remained outside for several minutes.
Another patrol unit arrived.
The second officer, Kevin Doyle, stepped into the rain.
Cynthia watched them through the cruiser window.
O’Grady held up the plastic bag.
Doyle gave a low whistle.
Then both looked toward Cynthia.
Doyle approached the rear door but did not open it.
He stared through the glass.
“Where’d you find it?”
O’Grady answered loudly enough for Cynthia to hear.
“Passenger seat.”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed.
Passenger seat.
Five minutes earlier he had pretended to discover it beneath the driver’s seat.
First contradiction.
Doyle laughed.
“She just had it sitting there?”
“Practically gift-wrapped.”
Cynthia memorized the words.
Doyle walked around the Taurus.
“What do you want me to do with the rental?”
“Get it to impound.”
“Captain’s going to like this.”
O’Grady smiled.
“Captain’s going to love it.”
They drove toward the precinct.
Doyle rode in the passenger seat of O’Grady’s cruiser while another officer handled the Taurus.
Rain hammered the roof.
Doyle looked at the evidence bag.
“Good weight.”
O’Grady nodded.
“Enough.”
“Captain Miller’s been climbing all over us about narcotics numbers.”
“He can relax now.”
Doyle glanced back at Cynthia for the first time.
“You from D.C.?”
Cynthia did not answer.
O’Grady laughed.
“She’s discovered the right to remain silent.”
Then, to Doyle:
“She gave me some attitude roadside.”
“No kidding.”
“Started asking questions like she was a lawyer.”
Cynthia studied the scratched plastic partition.
Every word mattered.
Doyle said:
“You think this gets you detective?”
O’Grady smiled.
“If Miller keeps his word.”
There it was.
Not proof of a broader conspiracy.
But motive.
Numbers.
Promotion.
Statistics.
Professional reward.
O’Grady continued.
“Plain-view narcotics. Clean stop. Easy case.”