Harris lunged forward, his hand dropping to his holster.

Vance didn’t hesitate.

“Drop your weapon!” Vance shouted, stepping into Harris’s path.

Harris froze, his hand resting on the grip of his gun.

He looked at Vance’s weapon, then at the young officer’s face.

He knew he couldn’t win a shootout in a closed concrete room with back-up arriving upstairs.

“You’re a fool, Vance,” Harris spat, slowly raising his hands.

“Hands on your head, Detective,” Vance said. “Now.”

Harris slowly placed his hands behind his head, his fingers interlacing.

I stepped around them and pulled the black cable from the server rack.

The tablet fell to the concrete floor with a dull plastic clatter.

I picked it up, its screen still displaying the failed transfer log.

“This goes to the state police,” I said.

“They won’t believe a word you say, Clara,” Harris said, his voice dripping with venom.

“They will believe the system logs,” I said. “And they will believe the audio.”

I pointed to the small dome camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling.

A tiny green light was blinking next to the lens.