CHAPTER EIGHT
By early afternoon the next day, Riley was sitting in the office of Atlanta’s police chief, Elmo Stiles. The large, gruff man didn’t seem at all happy with what Riley had been telling him.
He finally growled, “Let me get this straight, Agent Paige. You’ve come here all the way from Quantico to privately interview Morgan Farrell, who we’re holding in custody for the murder of her husband. But we didn’t ask for the FBI’s help. In fact, the case is now open and shut. We’ve got a confession and everything. Morgan is guilty, and that’s pretty much that. So what’s your business here?”
Riley tried to project an air of confidence.
“I told you before,” she said. “I need to talk to her about a completely separate matter—a different case altogether.”
Stiles squinted skeptically and
