Chapter 6Eugene stretched in his chair and rubbed his sore neck. He had already written a dozen pages in total and still wasn't satisfied with the result; he tore the last page from the machine, ran his eyes over it and with a grimace of resignation threw it into a bin standing under the desk. The preliminary report on the brutal murder of the three black men should have been ready for almost an hour, and Perlman was ready to tear his hair out.
He was stuck. He did not know how to put on paper what he had seen in the flat and in the hospital and what he had heard from the doctors. It was beyond his comprehension, and he was, after all, just an ordinary pen pusher. Yes, he had a badge, a identity card, a gun and so on, but he was just a clerk. Or was he?
“Hey, are you done?” Agent Shaw kn
