8
“How’s he doing?” Nick asked as he entered the enclosed observation area that looked into the interrogation room where he had left Reid waiting. He carried a manila file folder under one arm.
Hector Martinez’s dark eyes slid from the one-way mirror to look up at him from where he was sitting in full uniform. His police cap rested on a small table beside him. He raised his shoulders in a shrug.
“Nothing. The guy’s barely even moved, except to play with his fingernails.”
Nick looked through the specially treated window to observe the man sitting inside the interrogation room. The room itself was stark and plain, with only a bare table and three metal chairs—one on one side, and two on the other. Reid sat across from the pair of empty chairs with his hands resting on the table. A water
