gray suit carrying an accordion file marked PELL COUNTY in black, and a keen-eyed woman in a navy pantsuit with a leather portfolio.
Voss straightened his uniform and stepped forward with his hand out, like a man welcoming guests to a barbecue.
“Afternoon, folks. Sheriff Dalton Voss. What can I do for the FBI today?”Find Police Jobs
The lead agent, a tall Black woman in her forties with close-cropped hair, walked right past his hand without looking at it and came to me.
“Judge Whitlock,” she said. “Special Agent Renee Calloway, FBI Atlanta. Are you injured?”
She looked at my wrists, and her jaw tightened.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “But I’d like every detail of what happened to me today preserved. All of it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Agent Calloway turned to her colleague, a younger agent with red hair named Kessler. “Secure the booking logs, the dispatch recordings, the body camera footage
