Fluorescent lights buzzed in the precinct lobby. The manager pointed to plastic chairs.
“Sit," the manager said. “Then we go in."
Sara sat. Her wrists itched where the straps had been. Terrence watched the door.
“You don't have to wait," Sara said.
“I'm a fan," Terrence said.
A desk sergeant called, “Hale?"
Sara stood. “That's me."
The manager rose too. “We'll give a statement," she told the sergeant. “And we'll need a copy."
“Room three," the sergeant said. “Officer Vega."
Terrence lifted two fingers in a small salute. “I'll be right here."
“Thank you," Sara said, and followed the manager down the hall.
Room three had a table, three chairs, and a recorder the size of a paperback. Officer Vega clicked it on. “State your name for the record," she said.
“Sara Hale."
“What happen
