Jack In A Box

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FBI Special Agent Kim Otto's slowly descending eyelids abraded like forty-grit sandpaper along her corneas and rested briefly before ascending in gouging retraction. How long had she been sifting here? The FBI headquarters building was quiet here in the basement. Activity was limited to higher floors where essential matters were handled.

“What are you missing?” she asked the empty room as if she expected the answer to be revealed, when she expected nothing of the sort. If she was going to find anything at all, she’d have found it long before now. But she couldn’t give up, so she thought it through again.

She'd begun by searching for general information. Finding none, she'd narrowed her search to the fingerprints. Fingerprints never changed, never disappeared, never failed to identify. Every law enforcement officer knew a fingerprint was worth a thousand eyewitness reports and often better even than DNA.

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