CHAPTER ELEVEN
“So what did you flush down the toilet before you came out?” Camille asked.
Roger Keenan’s face crumpled into a look of disgust. He clearly hadn’t liked that question. The three of them were sitting in a very small breakroom, decorated with only a bit of counter space, a single, small table, and a microwave.
“You know, my manager is going to know I’m missing anytime now,” Keenan said.
“Not our problem,” Palmer said. “Now, answer Agent Grace. What were you flushing?”
“Pot.”
“You smoked recently?”
Keenan sighed and then shrugged, as if he really didn’t see where he’d done anything wrong. “After my first shift. So what?”
“Your first shift,” Camille said. “So you were working on Wheeler’s Delight for the morning excursion, too, right?”
“Yeah, I was.” He gave them a hard
