Back at headquarters, Hiroshi stopped by his office and bolstered himself with two double espressos before heading down to the interrogation rooms. He felt the run in his legs, and Tim’s punch had caught more of his head than he realized at the time. He thought about putting some ice on it. The headache was already starting.
Takamatsu and Ishii were waiting outside the rooms. Instead of flipping his lighter, as usual, Takamatsu was shaking the wrist Tim Branson bent. Ishii stood to the side as if they had done nothing more than sit in office chairs all morning.
“Go put some ice on it,” Hiroshi told Takamatsu, though he didn’t do that for his own head.
Takamatsu shook off his suggestion. “Ishii and I will watch his body language. Give us a summary of what he says after you’re done.”
“Is
