Suter paced between the walls of the beige featureless hallway. He loosened his tie and damp collar, craned his neck while closing his eyes to little slits. Bohannon stood in front of a soft-drink vending machine and watched him for a few minutes before approaching. He wasn’t sure if the FBI agent was sick again or on the verge of some kind of a breakdown.
He handed a bottle of water to Suter. “Here, drink this. You look like you need it.”
Suter’s head snapped toward Bohannon. “We’re not getting anywhere with her. I think we should put her on ice for a day or two. See if that makes her more cooperative.”
“Her attorney will have her out this afternoon. What do we charge her with? Kidnapping, murder, terrorism, what? All we have are a few witnesses who saw her with some of the passengers
