facility, the smell of too many people in too small of an area, plus the undeniable dank muskiness of a ventilation system which didn’t work as well as it should, imprinted the odor on a person’s olfactory senses.
The deputy stopped in front of one of the interrogation rooms. “Masters will be here soon. We have to pull him up from isolation. The ADA is in the facility, and he knows you're here.” He opened the door to the interview room and nodded his head.
He and Amber shuffled through the open door and took a seat at the six-foot-long metal table. “I thank God I’m not claustrophobic.”
Amber grimaced and glanced around the room. He scanned the interview room. Barren, bleak, and starkly furnished, with four chairs and two posters—visitation rules and prisoner rights.
Cliff Sands, the ADA, walked into the room. He and Amber stood to greet the man.
“Cliff, it’s good to see you again.” Brody extended his hand.
“And you. What are we looking for in particular with this interview?” He placed his briefcase on the gray metal table and removed a three-inch-thick folder, dropping it to the surface with a thud.
“We have numerous pieces of information which lead us to believe the Peña cartel is in the process of, or has already started, importing or exporting Gray Death into Hope City. We need Masters to explain his role in the process. Barring that, we need him to explain why he was in the Fairhope neighborhood on numerous occasions prior to his arrest.” He spun his chair around and straddled it as the others sat down.
Cliff nodded and opened his folder. He looked up and smiled. “I’m sorry, I forgot my manners. I’m Cliff Sands, Assistant District Attorney. And you are?”
He hurried to make the introductions. “Damn it, I’m sorry. Cliff, this is my new teammate, Amber Swanson. She’s been assigned to the JDET team permanently as a DEA liaison. Amber, this is Cliff Sands, and he’s more than an ADA. He’s one of Brock’s best friends. They served together overseas.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Cliff. Is that file all on Masters?” She nodded to the dark brown pressed cardboard holder.
“Indeed. As he is representing himself legally, it streamlines the paperwork, believe it or not. I’m not sure how much information you’re going to get from him. He seems to be playing games. I believe his sense of self-worth may outweigh the information he actually can provide, although at this point the DA is willing to see what we can get from him. We were informed the FBI has utilized some of the information they received from him to take down a payment system Peña’s cartel had been utilizing for several years. But as you well know, you plug one hole, and another leak appears.” Cliff leaned back in his chair. “What specifically are you looking for from him?”
“Based on the suspect’s access to his company’s worldwide and national distribution system, we feel Treyson or Masters are either bringing drugs into the country, or as Amber suggested this morning, shipping them out."
"From where? Do you have a manufacturing site under surveillance?" Cliff angled his head at them.
"Actually, our sources have mentioned small airports. Masters’ phone triangulation prior to his arrest puts him in the Fairhope neighborhood repeatedly." He leaned forward. "There is a flight line community up there. Small airplanes in hangars behind houses which line a private airstrip. It would be the easiest way to transport drugs out of the city, under the scope."
"But you have nothing to base it on except a hunch?"
"Right. That's why we need Masters to tell us why he was up there."
Cliff frowned. "And if he has nothing?"
Amber lifted her hands and spread them wide. "Then we start over. Half our job amounts to nothing more than chasing hunches and running down possibilities."
"You’re going to have to ask specific questions. The man doesn't postulate. He likes to think he's smarter than us." Cliff shifted in his chair as the door opened.
Brody shifted his attention to the inmate who was being delivered. A middle aged man shuffled into the room. A paunch bulged his orange jumpsuit around the middle. Shackles made the man shuffle, but the pompous look in the man's eyes was definitely that of the lawyer he'd seen on television.
They waited for the man to take a seat and the guard to fasten the handcuffs to the bar in the middle of the table.
"Really?" Masters held up his hands and glanced at Cliff.