At the station I was shown to the same interrogation room. I noticed that the little red lights on the two cameras hanging from the ceiling were off. That was a good sign. Maybe off-camera the detective would be less of a jerk. I sat down and waited, but again, in less than a minute, the door opened.
At first, I thought he was someone else. The man who entered was wearing a police uniform, and wearing it well. Even when I recognized him as Detective Solomon, it seemed that the man had a different air about him—though I admitted to myself that this might be due to the uniform. The problem was that I couldn’t really be objective, for I have a thing for men in uniforms. The thrill I experienced now was a forceful reminder of this. It made me feel distinctly vulnerable, and that I had lost so
