Chapter 8

I pushed through the glass doors of the St. Augustine Police Station, my heart hammering against my ribs. The place reeked of stale coffee and the tang of industrial cleaner, a scent that clung to the walls like an unwelcome ghost. I'd been here before, but never with such a pressing weight on my shoulders.

"I need to see the detective in charge of the Angela Jennings murder case, please," I said, my voice steady despite the gnawing tension inside me. The uniformed officer behind the front desk looked up, his expression flat, bored.

"It's urgent," I added, locking eyes with him. "I need to speak with them now."

"Name?" His question was routine, his fingers poised over the keyboard.

"Agent Eva Rae Thomas," I replied and showed him my badge. "FBI."

The officer led me down a narrow corridor, the walls lined with framed photos of St. Augustine's finest, their smiles almost mocking in the dim fluorescence. He stopped at a door, rapped on it twice, and swung it open without waiting for a reply.

"An Agent Thomas is here to see you," he announced flatly before disappearing back into the hallway.

The office was a claustrophobic den of paperwork mountains and greasy takeout containers. A single bulb flickered above, casting sallow light on the man behind the desk. Detective Mark Larson slouched in his chair, a sneer plastered across his craggy face as if I were the inconvenience of the day. Which I probably was.

"Agent Thomas," I said, pushing the door further ajar. "FBI. I'm here about the Angela Jennings case."

His eyes, bloodshot and ringed with dark circles, barely lifted from the cluttered mess of his desk. He chewed on the end of a pen, a deliberate show of disinterest.

"Jennings?" he grunted, the word laced with derision.

"Working on behalf of Diane Matthews, the victim's mother. Will Jennings' arrest—it doesn't add up." My words cut through the dense air, sharp and insistent.

Larson leaned back, the chair groaning under the shift of weight. He flicked the pen onto the desk, where it rolled aimlessly before coming to rest against a mound of files.

"Ah, the grieving mother-in-law," he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. "Got the feds to do her dirty work, has she?"

I ignored the jab. "There are gaps in the narrative. We need to ensure we're not overlooking key evidence."

"Key evidence," Larson mimicked, mockery thick in his tone. His gaze finally met mine, and there was something chilling in its vacancy, the lack of empathy or even basic humanity. "You think I don't know how to run an investigation?"

"Collaboration could benefit—" I began, but he cut me off with a snort.

"Look, sweetheart, save your breath. This is my turf. Your badge doesn't impress me."

Larson's chair creaked as he leaned forward, the acrid smell of old sweat wafting across the desk. "Now, if you don't mind, I have actual police work to do."

His dismissal was clear, but I stood my ground, refusing to be intimidated or brushed aside. There was more at stake than his bruised ego.

"Detective Larson," I pressed, keeping my voice cool, "I intend to see this investigation through. With or without your cooperation."

I squared my shoulders, the starched fabric of my shirt scratching slightly as I did so.

I was met with a scoff.

"Detective Larson, you can scoff all you want," I said, meeting his dismissive gaze with a steely one of my own. "But this isn't just about jurisdiction. It's about getting to the truth. And I'm not gonna just stand here and watch as an innocent man goes down for something he didn't do."

"Truth?" He laced his fingers behind his head with an air of ostentatious contempt. "You're out of your depth, Agent Thomas."

"Maybe." My voice was steady, but inside, my pulse raced. "Or maybe I have resources that could help. Diane Matthews is counting on us—on me—to clear her son-in-law's name if he's innocent."

"Resources." He spat the word out like a cherry pit, his sneer deepening. "This department doesn't run on your fancy federal toys."

"Information, Detective." I leaned across the desk, closing the space between us, making it impossible for him to ignore the urgency in my eyes. "That's what I'm asking for."

"Ask away." He flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "Doesn't mean I'll give."

"Someone's future is on the line," I said, refusing to blink first. "Justice demands we look at every angle."

"Justice?" His laugh was a bark, sharp and mocking. "You don't get to lecture me about justice in my own town, Agent Thomas."

"Then prove it." I stood firm, unflinching. "Prove that St. Augustine upholds it. Share the case files with me."

"Share?" He snorted, shaking his head as if I had just told a bad joke. "Dream on."

"Fine." I drew back slowly, knowing when to retreat—for now. "But this isn't over, Detective."

"Sure feels like it from here." Larson's grin was all teeth, zero warmth.

"I just need to know what the new evidence is that has put Jennings in jail," I said.

Larson leaned forward, his elbows digging into the clutter of his desk. "You seem slow on the uptake, Agent Thomas. I'll spell it out for you—no."

"Detective," I countered, keeping my voice steady despite the heat crawling up my neck, "I'm not here to step on toes. I'm here for clarity, for closure."

"Clarity?" His lip curled. "You're clouding up my precinct with your Fed badge and big words. This is local police business."

"Local or not, a man's life hangs in the balance. We have to get this right."

"Right," he echoed, mockery lacing his tone. "And you think you've got the monopoly on that?"

"Detective Larson," I leaned in, my voice steady, "think about the victim's family. He has children. They'll be left without parents if he's put away. A fresh set of eyes might be beneficial."

"Beneficial?" He snorted, his arms folded like a fortress wall. "Or bureaucratic?"

"Both of us want the same thing," I insisted. "A swift resolution."

"Swift and sloppy don't mix." The words slithered out with disdain.

"Accuracy is key—and I can help with that."

"Help?" His laugh was a barbed wire. "You're more of a hindrance."

"Detective—"

"Save it." He turned away, rifling through papers on his cluttered desk, dismissal written in every crease of his uniform.

I paused. My next words were caught in my throat, left unsaid. He wouldn't budge. It was evident in the rigid line of his back, the way his fingers twitched to shoo me away again.

"Fine." It came out sharper than intended. A mental pivot was needed, and fast.

I didn't let my gaze waver as I backed toward the door, dissecting the room with each step. Bookshelves lined with binders, a computer buzzing on standby.

"Thank you, Detective," I said, though gratitude was the furthest thing from my heart. "Your cooperation has been… noted."

"Note this." He pointed at the door without looking up. "Don't let it hit you on the way out."

My hand found the doorknob, cold and unyielding—a reflection of the man before me. I paused. I took a deep breath, refusing to be cowed by his dismissive posture.

"Is there someone else I can speak with?" I asked, each word measured and clear. "Perhaps another detective who has been on the case?"

The smirk that crawled across his face was like a shadow passing over sun-warmed sand.

"Oh, Agent Thomas," he drawled, the sarcasm dripping from his voice like molasses. "This isn't some open house where you shop around for cooperation."

His fingers danced mockingly on the cluttered desk, tapping out a silent rhythm only he could hear.

"You want the files? Go through the proper channels. Fill out your forms, get your clearances, and stand in line."

"That's gonna take too long. I don't have that kind of time," I said. "The trial is coming up soon."

Heat flushed my cheeks, but I refused to let it reach my eyes. They remained cool, green pools of determination.

"Not really my problem, is it?"

I turned, leaving him alone with his victory smirk and festering office, the door closing on the sound of his chuckle.

My mind raced through regulations and statutes as I made my way out of the precinct, already plotting my next move. There was more than one way to peel an orange, and I'd peel this case wide open.