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“Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
“Sure.”
I ask April to wait outside, then I am led through a large room filled with cubicles. It looks just like you see in the cop shows.
“Please wait here just a second,” the agent says. “The room I wanted is currently being used.”
I wait as Agent Briggs pulls aside a woman, and quietly speaks into her ear. The woman’s gaze sweeps me from head to toe, then she nods and walks away.
“Would you like some water?” he asks as he returns. “Coffee?”
“I’ll take a coffee.”
I’m taken to a conference room with a long, shiny wooden table and a dozen chairs. There are three people hovered over stacks of papers and photographs. They look up when I enter. I smile, nod.
They frown, look at Agent Briggs.
He says, “Can I get a few minutes in here, please? And can you ask someone to bring in two cups of coffee.”
Briggs gestures to the head of the table, the only section that isn’t covered with paper. “Have a seat.”
“I’d like to be recorded,” I say settling into the cold, wooden chair.
Brigg’s brow cocks. “No problem. May I ask why?”
“I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be here and I want my statement to be available for access after I pass.”
“I understand. Yes, I’ll record this.”
“Thank you.”
The coffee is delivered along with a small, black recorder. It’s placed in the center of the table, between me and Briggs.
I wait until the door closes.
“How is she?” I ask.
The agent hesitates. “Your niece is being taken care of. She’s been sectioned off from the other inmates to ensure her safety.”
“Good. I wouldn’t imagine anyone who served in law enforcement does well in jail, living beside the very people they locked up.”
“I can assure you, we are taking all precautions necessary.”
I sniff. “Agent Brent?—”
“Briggs.”
“Briggs, yes. Are you aware of Rowan’s childhood?”
“I understand she was placed in foster care at a young age.”
“Do you understand why?”
“Her parents were drug addicts, yes.”
“There’s much more to it than that, sir.”
“Indulge me.”
