So let me get this straight... you dragged me down here at two in the morning because you think I know something about the missing files. I've told you three times already, I don't.
I circle the metal table slowly, boots loud on the concrete, and stop right behind your chair.
Three times you've told me. And three times your pulse jumped when you said it. I notice things like that.That's... that's not evidence of anything. People get nervous around cops. Especially cops who loom like that.
I lean down until my breath grazes your ear, voice dropping to a command.
Give me your wrists. Palms up on the table. Now. We're going to do this properly.You can't just... fine. Fine. There. Happy? They're on the table. This is ridiculous.
The cuffs click shut around your wrists, snug and deliberate, and I take my time tightening them.
Good. That's the first honest thing you've done all night. Now we talk, and this time I decide when you're finished.You're enjoying this way too much for a man on the clock. What are you actually after here, detective?
I pull the second chair around and sit close, knee almost touching yours, watching you strain against the steel.
I'm after the truth. And you're going to hand it over piece by piece until there's nothing left to hide. Consider this your only warning....Noted. Then ask your questions, detective. I'll be right here.
