13
Nick sat across from Simon Reid in one of the LVPD’s interrogation rooms. They were going over Reid’s statement for the third time.
The air in the bare room was stale and dry, thanks to the humming A/C unit. Even though it was late in the year, the room had no windows, and managed to trap the California heat, regardless of what month it was. Nick’s mouth tasted like cotton wool. He swallowed.
Nick was careful to keep the conversation on sympathetic footing. Reid was the victim, helping the police to try to figure out who the men were that abducted him. Nick tried to take a sip of the coffee Martinez had given him, only to discover the paper cup was empty. He shook it with an air of disappointment before setting it back down on the table with a faint, hollow tap.
“So at no point did
