CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Ilse felt at home in the interrogation room now. The cold chair seemed a part of her. As she leaned on the metal table, studying the suspect, her eyes were narrowed. Occasionally she glanced down at the Polaroids scattered between undergarments on the table in front of them. The lingerie matched what the women in the b**m pictures were wearing.
Ilse wasn't too interested in the contents of the photos. Mostly, she wanted Mr. Isaac to know she was looking at them.
He sat across from them. Still wearing his Christmas sweater and glancing nervously side to side. Whenever he swallowed, an oversized Adam's apple bobbed along his throat.
“So you're telling me,” Sawyer pressed a line of questioning, “you have no alibi. For any of the nights?”
Mr. Isaac shifted again. Anot
