“You probably bought that jacket on credit.”
Vanessa finally looked at him.
“Officer Colton.”
“What?”
“Do you regularly discuss suspects' clothing during transport?”
His jaw tightened.
Briggs said quietly:
“Derek.”
“What?”
“Maybe stop talking.”
Colton looked at him.
“Why?”
Briggs kept his eyes on the road.
“She’s baiting you.”
Vanessa almost corrected him.
She wasn't.
But Briggs had at least recognized risk.
Colton turned forward.
For three blocks, silence.
Then he said:
“You criminals always get brave once the cuffs go on.”
Vanessa looked toward the camera.
“11:54.”
Briggs exhaled.
“Derek.”
“What?”
“Seriously.”
Colton finally stopped.
Precinct 42 occupied an aging brick building squeezed between a pharmacy and an apartment tower.
Vanessa had visited once, three years earlier, during a training review.
Nobody working the front desk that day remained.
Good.
She wanted the experience clean.
The patrol vehicle entered the rear garage.
Colton opened her door.
“Out.”
Vanessa looked at him.
“You enjoy commands.”
He smiled.
“You’ll learn.”
He helped her stand by gripping her elbow.
Too hard.
Vanessa memorized that too.
They entered through the rear hallway.
The station smelled like old coffee, wet coats, paper, and the particular stale air of buildings occupied continuously for decades.
Officers moved between desks.
Phones rang.
Printers worked.
Two civilians sat on a bench waiting to file reports.
Colton walked Vanessa through the room.
Not quietly.
He wanted attention.
“Got ourselves a professional-looking thief.”
Several officers looked up.
Vanessa looked around.
Faces.
Badges.
Reactions.
One young officer frowned.
Another smirked automatically because Colton did.
A third looked at Vanessa's clothes, then at the cuffs, then back at Colton.
Nobody asked a question.
Interesting.
At the desk sat Sergeant Martin Keane.
Fifty-two.
Irish-American.
Twenty-seven years in the department.
Vanessa had read his personnel file two nights earlier.
Competent.
Three commendations.
One old excessive-force complaint not substantiated.
Repeated notes praising administrative discipline.
Potential resistance to organizational change.
He looked toward Colton.
“What’ve you got?”
“Shoplifter.”
“From?”
“Bellamy.”
Keane looked at Vanessa.
Then at her handbag.
“Property?”
“Not recovered yet.”
Keane frowned.
“What do you mean not recovered?”
“She ditched it or passed it.”
Vanessa spoke.
“There was no property.”
Keane looked at her.
Colton said:
“She hasn’t shut up since the store.”
Vanessa smiled slightly.
“I was silent for almost four minutes in the car.”
Briggs coughed.
Colton glared.
Keane looked toward Briggs.
“Nate?”
Briggs hesitated.
“We didn't recover anything.”
Colton interrupted.
“She was casing displays.”