He doesn"t speak to me on the road. In the elevator, when we get in, he presses 40 and then measures me again. I know what I look like, but I couldn"t bring myself to let him take me home first. I gasp as I nervously fold my arms.
"How long have you been working here?"
"Four and a half years, sir," I reply. He glances at me, and silence again. ""Sir, the Clare case," I begin, but he holds up his palm in front of me and I fall silent. My head begins to ache more. WHAT A...?
