I’D BEEN BROUGHT DOWN to the county slammer for this second round of questioning. But despite the change of scenery, our conversation felt like déjà vu all over again.
First, Lambert and his partner Bradford left me handcuffed to the table in a tiny interrogation room for an hour, just long enough for me to regret refusing a phone call in the interest of giving my pack time to come up with a shifter-friendly bail-out solution. Then, once my heels were good and cool, the questions began in earnest.
As before, Officer Bradford was playing good cop to Lambert’s bad. And after what felt like hours, I could tell all three of us were becoming royally sick of the charade.
“Care to explain what happened out there?” the good cop asked for what felt like the hundredth time.
“I told you already..
