"Oh, I'm going to let them try," Cynthia said. "I'll see you soon, Jim."
She hung up the phone and turned back to O'Grady. "My lawyer is on his way. He's coming from out of town."
O'Grady laughed. "Out of town? Must be expensive. Let's see if he can get you out of ten to fifteen years in state lockup. Come on. We're going to interrogation room four."
Interrogation room four was exactly as Cynthia had expected: a small, windowless box painted in a nauseating shade of institutional green. A heavy steel table was bolted to the floor, flanked by three uncomfortable metal chairs. A large two-way mirror dominated the right wall.
O'Grady gestured for her to sit on the side facing the mirror. He took the seat opposite her. Officer Doyle stood by the door, arms crossed, trying to look intimidating.
Cynthia glanced up at the top corner of the room. A small black dome housed the interrogation camera.
O'Grady followed her gaze. "Don't worry about that. Thing's been busted for a week. Maintenance hasn't gotten around to it. It's just you, me, and Doyle here. Off the record."
Second lie, Cynthia noted. Turning off the camera during a felony interrogation was a massive violation of procedure, designed entirely to allow the officers to coerce a confession without oversight.
"So," O'Grady began, leaning over the table, resting his heavy forearms on the metal surface. "Let's talk about your future, Cynthia. Right now, it's not looking too bright."
"I have nothing to say to you without my attorney present," Cynthia stated clearly.
"Your attorney isn't here yet," O'Grady shot back, his voice dropping to a menacing gravel. "And by the time he gets here, the deal I'm about to offer you is going to be off the table."
"What deal?" she asked, feigning a hint of nervous hesitation.
O'Grady took the bait. He leaned back, thinking he was breaking her. "You're a mule. I know it, you know it. Two ounces of rock is a lot of weight for a personal stash. You were moving it for somebody. Give me a name. Give me the distributor you bought it from, and I'll talk to the DA. I'll tell him you cooperated. Maybe we drop the charge down to simple possession. You do a year of probation, pay a fine, and walk away."
Cynthia looked at him. "And if I don't give you a name—a name I don't possess, because the drugs aren't mine?"
Doyle scoffed from the door. "Then you're going away for a decade, lady."
"You need to understand the reality of your situation," O'Grady said, leaning back in. "I am the arresting officer. It is my word against yours. I wrote the report. I documented exactly how you were driving erratically, endangering the public. I documented how I approached your car, and how I saw the drugs sitting right there on the passenger seat, in plain view."
"Wait," Cynthia said, leaning forward slightly, locking eyes with O'Grady. "In plain view? On the passenger seat?"
"That's right," O'Grady said, not blinking.