THIRTEEN
Mrs. Johnson’s eyes were swollen and red from crying continuously through the interview. Her nose looked permanently pink from rubbing the tissue on it, and her hands shook as she wiped the corners of her eyes. Her poorly dyed blonde uncombed hair lay flat against her head. There was a hollow look in her eyes, and Marie’s heart ached to listen to her tiny sobs through the two-way mirrored glass.
Mr. Johnson kept his arm firmly around his wife to keep her from falling out of the chair. His short gray hair was thinning at the top, and his left hand balled into a fist. Marie felt he might explode into a tirade and punch his fist into whatever was in his path. Marie could feel the tension drape around his body.
Commander Irons compassionately patted Mrs. Johnson’s hand and offered
