CHAPTER SIX
Morgan laid his head down on his pillowed arms, the metal table cold against his cheek. He had no idea how long he’d been in this gray, claustrophobic room at the police station. It could have been five minutes or five hours. At least he wasn’t handcuffed anymore.
The cops had brought him here to this room and, after getting him a sweatshirt, the questions had started. Who was he? Who was Lexa to him? Why had he been in the alley? When had Lexa called him? What had she said? He’d answered everything multiple times. Then two more cops, these ones in suits rather than uniforms, circled around and asked the same things again in different ways, trying to catch him in a lie or an inconsistency. Morgan knew the technique. He used it on patients sometimes when he could tell they wer
