CHAPTER 8 – THE TROUBLING DAWN OF THE INVESTIGATION
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AFTER A BRIEF AND UNSATISFACTORY night spent in a motel room, the agents and Chris Henderson reconvened in the sheriff’s office at nine in the morning.
The sheriff wasn’t in a better mood that morning. He was even worse than he had been the night before. His eyes were blood-shot, and his cheekbones seemed taut. The grey color of his skin didn’t leave any room for speculations about his present health. He hadn’t slept well, and the bitter taste on his tongue made him purse his mouth as if he tasted not a lemon but a basket full of lemons.
After a brief discussion, the sheriff grudgingly offered the agents the use of a conference room at the back of the station. He knew that he couldn’t refuse them, but he was none too
