They watched in silence for six minutes, straight through.
Kim saw the date on the tape was November 2.
Initial entry time was 12:01 a.m.
After which: Two men come in. They have a brief chat with the desk sergeant. Not Brent after all. Kim was glad. And she wondered now what he was so worried about since he wasn’t at fault.
The fake Marshall hands over a folded paper. The desk sergeant makes a phone call at 12:06 a.m. lasting less than one minute. Another brief chat at the desk. The sergeant makes another phone call at 12:11 a.m. lasting less than one minute. He shakes his head. A briefer chat follows. The sergeant puts the paper on the desk and walks to Sylvia’s cell. Sylvia is sitting as she had been in her own kitchen that day, hunched over, head down, forearms resting on her thighs, fingers pressing together rhythmically in sequence.
Sylvia looks up when the sergeant unlocks the cell. She stands, hands in front. He cuffs her, holds her right bicep, and walks her to the front. He presents her to the Marshall, who grabs her left bicep.
Sylvia and the two men walk out through the front door.
Outside, all three get in the Chevy Kim and Gaspar had seen on the Interstate median. The one with the dead body in it. The one Roscoe called Shorty, still alive at that point, is driving. The fake Marshall is sitting in the navigator seat. Sylvia is in back.
The car drives out of frame at 12:33 a.m.
Roscoe said, 'Recognize them?'
Kim shook her head once. Negative. Like Roscoe, Kim knew only who the guys were not.
“Roll it again,” Gaspar said. “We’ve got questions.”
Roscoe pressed replay without taking her focus off the screen.
Kim studied details this time.
Two men stood outside, pressed the call button, waited for the door to unlock, entered the station, and approached the desk. The shorter one was dressed in a dark business suit and tie. He carried a briefcase.
He looked familiar.
The taller one was wearing a U.S. Marshall uniform, complete with hat and equipment belt. Hat shadowed his face; uniform enveloped his body. Nothing visible enough to identify.
Both men wore leather gloves.
It was November.
Costumes.
Meant to convey normalcy and conceal reality. Well done.
The desk sergeant was the other guy Kim had seen with Brent at Sylvia’s home yesterday.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“Officer Frank Kraft.”
“He’s new?”
Roscoe didn’t look up. She must have seen the video a hundred times already, but she remained focused. “About a month, I guess.”
“Break any rules about buzzing visitors in here at night?” Gaspar asked.
“Federal officers pretty much come and go as they please around here,” Roscoe said.
Touchy, like small-town cops everywhere.
The shorter guy, was the first to speak. His voice was husky in an abnormal way.
“Sergeant,” he had said, “I’m L. Mark Newton, attorney for Sylvia Black.” He handed Kraft a business card. “This is Marshall Wright.”
Kim registered the words. They seemed rehearsed. Had she heard the voice before? A tenor. Midwestern. Maybe.
The second guy also presented a business card to Kraft, but said nothing.
Kraft looked the cards over and placed them on the desk.
“What can I do for you?” Kraft asked. Deep baritone with a lisp.
“We have a federal court order for Sylvia Black,” Shorty said. “We’re here to collect her.”
Marshall Wright reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a tri-folded white paper. No envelope. He handed the paper to Kraft. Kraft opened the paper and read it.
“I didn’t know Mrs. Black was being released tonight,” Kraft said. Was there any surprise in his tone? “I’ll need to check with my Chief.”
Shorty said, “There’s nothing to check. It’s all there in black and white.”
The Marshall said, “We have to get her to Chicago by 3:30 a.m. We miss that flight in Atlanta, we’ll all be in a world of trouble, you know?”
Kraft nodded. “Sure. I understand. It’ll only take a minute.” He picked up the phone and placed the first call. At 12:06 a.m.
Gaspar asked Roscoe, “Did he actually call you?”
She said, “What the hell do you think?”
Gaspar said, “I think he tried and didn’t get you. Why not?”
“I was involved in something else at the time.”
Gaspar didn't press her. Good. There would be a time for that, but not now.
Kraft hadn’t left a message. He had said, “I’ll need to call again.”
And the short man had gotten a little nasty at that point, while keeping his voice down. Kim recognized the trick. She’d seen it before. Very effective for confounding voice identification. The end of his sentence was: “If your Chief has any questions, she can call us. Remind her that Federal judges can’t be challenged on matters of national security.”
Kraft nodded, as if the statement was as obvious as wet water. Still, to his credit, he made the second call. Same result.
Gaspar didn’t ask Roscoe why she failed to pick up the second time. Nor did Kim mention that Shorty was flat wrong on the law and Kraft should have known better.
On the tape Shorty looked at his watch and spoke again. Insistent words, nastier tone, but still controlled. Definitely rehearsed. He said, “We can take you into custody, too, son. Anybody here with you?”
Kraft said, “No. Just me.”
Gaspar actually groaned. Roscoe shot him a withering stare.
Shorty’s practiced coercion got heavier. “You don’t want to leave your station unattended, do you?”
Now Kraft seemed unsure, and worried.
Shorty changed his tactics to the reasonable approach. “Look, officer, you have our cards and our numbers. You have the order. Your chief can follow up when you reach her. What’s the problem?”
Kraft wavered, undecided. Body language conflicted, but leaning toward refusal.
The Marshall broke the deadlock. He stood tall and conveyed a simultaneously threatening and brothers-in- arms posture. “We’re on a deadline, officer. We can’t wait until your chief gets her shuteye. Shall we take Mrs. Black alone, or do you want to come along? Either way is fine with me.”
Kraft spent four more seconds thinking it over before he said, “I guess I’d better stay here.”
The Marshall pulled his handcuffs off his equipment belt and held them out. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Kraft said, “I can handle it.”
He snagged the cuffs, left the desk, and headed toward Sylvia’s cell.
Kim asked, “Any conversation between these two while Kraft is gone on the full recording?”
“None at all,” Roscoe replied.
Kraft walked into the cell block. He pressed the release button on the wall and Sylvia’s door popped open. She looked up, faced the camera, and flashed her model’s smile.
“Time to go, Sylvia,” Kraft said. Sylvia stood up, smoothed her clothes, patted her hair to be sure it remained in place.
Gaspar asked, “These two know each other?”
Roscoe replied, “Of course.”
Kraft said, “I have to put the cuffs on.”
Sylvia held her hands out in front, palms together. Kraft put the cuffs on her wrists. They walked together out
