9
The sense of purpose that carried me down Main Street and to the police station evaporated the moment I stepped through the doors. Vinnie sat at his desk, gazing intently at something on his computer screen. His fingers darted over the keyboard and the screen dissolved into a lock screen bearing the town’s seal the moment I approached him.
My reputation precedes me.
Although, could it really be considered a reputation if it had only happened once before? Vinnie stood and waved me onward. “He’s waiting for you.”
I silently wished that sentence had ended “in his office.” Then, at least, it would be something of a cordial exchange of information rather than an interrogation. No such luck. Vinnie ushered me toward the interview room where I’d given my statement yesterday afternoon. Throu
