2 - The Man from NSA
May 28th 12.25 p.m.
Sheriff' Gustav Sommers' office was a discomforting chaos: old useless things, little more than junk, scattered everywhere, a thick layer of dirt covering them, and dust all over the place. His desk was large and worn, its top invisible under the unstable mound of files, never dealt with, and the many scribbled notes. Not to mentions the remnants of previous meals and the ashtrays overflowing with ashes and butts.
When Sommers opened the door, followed by the man in the dark suit, an odour of stale smoke hit them. He said apologetically: “Sorry for the mess, but I have no help...”
Than he slouched in his chair and, looking at his guest in an almost defiant way, said: “Please, sit down...” and pointed to the only chair still free of papers.
The
