Massey’s words hammered in Betty’s head as she drove her cruiser after the black FBI Ford. She didn’t want to seem suspicious, more like an escort to her superior officers, so she kept a respectful distance, sirens off. Once they hit the main lane, Betty was going to swerve her vehicle and take a shortcut, avoiding the slow and cumbersome traffic, fast forwarding before the feds and arriving first at the precinct. That way she was going to receive the evidence on instructions by the head detective and the file would be out of FBI’s reach.
On a red light, a procession of bikers rounded Betty’s cruiser, their Harleys booming, and revving. They made a wall to Bettys left and right, and when the light hit green, they funneled in front of her, a pack of chrome, black and steel beasts glimmering in the sun. For a moment Betty was cut off from the black Ford. “Really nice timing boys,” Betty mumbled to herself. She only saw its taillights as the car was turning right following her intended shortcut. Betty swore under her breath and put the car in gear.
When she arrived at the parking lot, the same FBI Ford had already parked. She pulled on her spot and from the glove compartment took out her blue latex gloves, neatly folded them and hid them in her pocket. Then she took to a sprint.
Officer Betty Patterson pushed through the glass doors of West Police Precinct. Everyone was busy frowning and muttering about the gruesome deaths at Madison Park. Hardly any of the other officers paid her any mind, a happening she was thankful for right now. Betty quickly climbed the steps to the second floor where Massey’s glass windowed office was located.
The FBI agents were already here, more of them than she had anticipated. Betty didn’t know why she expected different; it was evident they would have sent numbers beforehand. She had to come up with a plan B. As she paced through the precinct she saw they had already started collecting the data and evidence from the Miles Jensen case. Betty saw some of their agents refilling their cups of coffee while supervising the “raid.” She too disliked the idea of giving the case over to the feds as much as everybody else and Massey had seemed jumpy when he had sent her to secure the case file and the tapes. Betty stopped dead in her tracks, her adrenaline subsiding. She had snapped to the task, but she was about to steal sensitive and vital information concerning the case and on top of that sneak it under the feds’ noses. If anyone were to find out what she was about to do, Betty’s days on the force would be over. But, her head detective had told her it was important to do so, and Betty believed him. She had never had any reason to doubt him, so she carried on with her mission trusting Massey’s instinct.
When she neared his office, she cursed under her breath again. The shades pulled up she could see that there were already FBI agents inside of it. Betty put a shoulder to one of the supporting columns and peeked. A short woman was looking through Massey’s computer; a task Betty deemed odd. Another one was filling boxes with manila folders all bearing the sigil of the precinct. The FBI had wanted just the data on the crime from the morning, which was scarce at the moment so why were they going through the head detective’s personal things? Suddenly Massey’s worrying tone from earlier frightened Betty as well.