Her right wrist had begun bruising.
An FBI medic had examined it.
Nothing broken.
Marcus placed headphones on the table.
“You should hear this.”
Maya looked at him.
“Legal cleared?”
“Yes.”
She put them on.
Keller’s voice came first.
“They know.”
Briggs responded:
“Know what?”
“All of it, I think.”
“You think?”
“The woman was FBI.”
Pause.
“What woman?”
“The Rolls.”
A longer silence.
Then Briggs:
“What did you do?”
Keller hesitated.
Maya could hear fear now.
“We stopped her.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
“Doss got rough.”
“Define rough.”
“He hit the car.”
Briggs swore.
Then:
“Did you turn cameras off?”
“Yes.”
“Dash?”
Keller was silent.
Briggs shouted:
“Aaron.”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“It might have buffered.”
Briggs swore again.
Then lowered his voice.
“Listen to me.”
Maya leaned closer.
Briggs continued:
“Get to the south records shed before they lock the county lot.”
Maya’s eyes narrowed.
Keller asked:
“What am I getting?”
“Blue seizure binders.”
“All?”
“Twenty-two through twenty-five.”
“What do I do with them?”
Silence.
Then Briggs:
“Use your imagination.”
Marcus paused the recording.
Maya removed the headphones.
“When?”
“5:31.”
“What happened at records shed?”
Marcus smiled without humor.
“We were already there.”
“What?”
“Search warrant came through at 5:18.”
Maya leaned back.
“For once, paperwork wins.”
“At 5:46 Keller arrived.”
“He went inside?”
“He tried.”
“Agents?”
“Waiting.”
Maya closed her eyes.
“Please tell me someone recorded his face.”
Marcus smiled.
“Several angles.”
“Good.”
Keller had not entered.
He saw federal vehicles and drove away.
That alone was not enough for arrest.
But the call was.
Conspiracy to destroy evidence.
Potential obstruction.
Briggs had just moved himself from suspected corruption into something easier to explain to a jury.
Maya looked through the glass wall into the larger operations room.
Agents moved between evidence tables.
Photographs.
Impound records.
Tow-company invoices.
Vehicle titles.
Auction documents.