He burst out of the bathroom and saw rookie Ben Collins standing nervously by the water cooler at the end of the hall. Travis marched over to him, his eyes wild, ignoring the IA agent who took a step forward. "Benny," Travis hissed, grabbing the rookie by the collar and pinning him against the drywall.
"Benny, you have to listen to me. We're partners. Partners cover each other."
"You're going to tell them that you smelled the weed. You're going to tell them that you saw her reaching for the trunk before I stopped her. If we stand united, it's two cops against one citizen. They can't prove a thing."
Ben Collins looked at the man who had bullied, manipulated, and terrified him for the past 6 months. For the first time, Ben didn't look scared. He looked deeply, profoundly relieved. "Take your hands off him, Holt," a voice commanded.
Travis turned to see Captain Grace standing at the end of the hall, her arms crossed behind her back. Travis slowly let go of Ben's collar. "Captain, I was just talking to my partner. Right, Ben?"
Ben stepped away from Travis, straightening his uniform. He walked deliberately past his former partner and stopped next to Emma. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black digital voice recorder.
"What is that?" Travis whispered, his stomach plummeting to the floor.
"I bought it 3 weeks ago," Ben said, his voice remarkably steady. "After you beat that kid behind the convenience store for mouthing off to you. I knew I couldn't go to Harrison. I knew I couldn't go to the chief because the union would crush me before the ink dried on the report. So, I just started recording every shift, every conversation in the cruiser."
Travis felt his knees go weak. "I have the audio from last night, Travis," Ben continued, looking his former mentor dead in the eyes. "I have you explicitly stating we had no probable cause. I have you bragging about planting the cocaine, and I have you laughing about targeting her because of the car."
"You rat," Travis breathed, his voice dripping with venom. "You little rat." "No," Emma corrected, placing a hand on Ben's shoulder. "He's a police officer. You're the rat, Travis, and you just gave me the final nail in your coffin."
Emma held up a clear plastic evidence bag. Inside it was the very baggie of cocaine Travis had pulled from her trunk hours earlier. But there was a bright red evidence tag stapled to the top.
"We just finished auditing the evidence room," Emma said, her voice echoing in the quiet hallway. "Agent Pendleton traced the chemical compound and the distinct stamp on the inner packaging. This cocaine wasn't just street level trash. This belongs to evidence from the Ramirez cartel bust, a joint task force case involving the DEA and FBI."
Travis couldn't breathe. The air felt thick, suffocating. "You didn't just plant evidence, Holt," Emma said, stepping forward until she was inches from his face.