“No.”
“Good.”
O’Grady approached.
“This your lawyer?”
Elena turned.
“Yes.”
“Your client’s being transferred to county after processing.”
“No, she isn’t.”
O’Grady laughed.
Captain Miller emerged from his office.
“What’s happening?”
Elena produced credentials.
“Federal counsel.”
Miller barely looked.
“Federal public defender?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
James Carter stepped forward.
“Captain Miller, I need a private room.”
Miller frowned.
“You need to explain who you are.”
Carter showed his federal identification.
Miller read it.
His face changed.
Not completely.
But enough.
“Deputy Director?”
O’Grady looked between them.
“Deputy Director of what?”
Carter’s eyes settled on him.
“The FBI.”
O’Grady’s smile vanished.
Doyle, standing near the booking desk, went very still.
Miller glanced toward Cynthia’s cell.
Then back at Carter.
“What does the FBI want with her case?”
Carter answered:
“Evidence preservation.”
Miller’s expression hardened defensively.
“This is a local narcotics arrest.”
“For the moment.”
Cynthia watched the captain carefully.
He still did not understand.
That mattered.
Carter requested the conference room.
Miller refused initially.
Elena informed him that federal agents had already secured a copy of video from the vehicle involved in the arrest and were reviewing potential civil-rights and evidence-tampering violations.
That changed the conversation.
Ten minutes later, Miller, O’Grady, Doyle, Elena, Carter, and Cynthia were inside a precinct conference room.
Cynthia was no longer handcuffed.
Her attorney sat beside her.
O’Grady remained standing.
“This is ridiculous.”
Elena opened a laptop.
“Officer O’Grady, according to your written report, you stopped Ms. Holloway after observing repeated lane deviations.”
“Yes.”
“You saw her cross a lane marker twice?”
“Yes.”
“Approximately where?”
O’Grady gave a location.
Elena nodded.
“You also reported discovering suspected narcotics in plain view on the passenger seat.”
“Yes.”
Captain Miller looked uncomfortable.
Cynthia said nothing.
Elena started the video.
The screen showed the Taurus moving along the wet highway.
Telemetry displayed speed.
Lane position.
Time.
Location.
The car remained centered.
One mile.
Two.
Three.
No drifting.
No yellow-line crossing.
O’Grady crossed his arms.
“That proves nothing.”
Elena continued.
The flashing patrol lights appeared.
The Taurus pulled over.
Cynthia’s hands moved clearly to the steering wheel.
The audio captured every word.
License and registration.
The false claim about weaving.
The order to exit.
Then the search.
The room changed before the crucial moment even arrived.
Miller’s jaw tightened.
He knew what lawful procedure should look like.
He saw the problem.
Then O’Grady’s recorded hand entered his raincoat pocket.
Removed the small plastic bag.
Placed it beneath the driver’s seat.