CHAPTER THIRTEENLindsey had never been stood against a wall and patted down before. He didn’t enjoy it. And he didn’t like being locked up, either. It was only a holding cell and he had his own clothing—minus shoe laces and belt, just like in the movies. And he had a receipt for his wristwatch and his wallet and his pocket change and his keys. He wanted to hold onto his pocket notebook and his gold International Surety pencil, but they took those too.
At first, on the way to Police Headquarters, Lindsey had tried to find out what was going on. The police officers were polite but firm at first. He’d find out shortly. Now keep still and keep quiet. He was handcuffed, with his hands behind his back, and of course as soon as he was in that predicament he began to itch in every imaginable plac
