The audio was fed to her through a small speaker. A one-way mirror allowed her to see all without being seen. Harley had been working hard on the younger one—the one who had seemed most determined to steal Allison’s suitcase. The teenager was seated in a folding chair, slouching irreverently in the center of the yellow room. Harley stood directly in front of him, firing questions. The other agent sat at the small table against the wall. When they’d first brought him in, the kid wouldn’t talk. His tune quickly changed when Harley made it plain that he’d better start explaining if he didn’t want to be the number-one suspect in the Kristen Howe kidnapping. Allison had watched his reaction carefully. He’d seemed genuinely shocked—as if Harley’s accusation was the first he’d ever heard of a possible link to a larger conspiracy. Twenty-five minutes later, the kid was still babbling. He rolled back his head in response to another question, seemingly bored by the repetition.
