The 13th Hour by Brigitta Moon

Author:Brigitta Moon [Moon, Brigitta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BMB Books
Published: 2019-02-03T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 38

The interview room was like all others—imposing. Gray, industrial strength tile layered the floor from one corner to the next, covering all four. Dull, white, featureless walls stretching from the floor to the ceiling. A three-dimensional cube with six faces, twelve edges, and eight vertices. A geometrical box, holding secrets, and confessions, and compressing evil inside its flaps. There was nothing that set it apart from the others in the Marston Precinct other than the man sitting in the cold, hard, steel chair. The cheap one that folded in on itself when it was no longer needed. But when it was in use, it held the suspect neatly in place under the drab silver table.

The man sitting in the chair peered around, taking in the panoramic view of his present quarters. He used the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his brow. The room was like an oven. He looked up, toward the sound of the air blowing through the vent that had been fitted into the ceiling above his head. The hellish heat circulated around the man, whispering the evil deeds of those before him. It was music to his ears. A tune worthy of his attention.

He examined his meager surroundings further. When he arrived at the elongated mirror on the far wall, he paused. No reason for a mirror, other than someone perched on the other side like a pervert peeping in, he thought. A closer inspection was warranted. He got up and ambled over. Stood in front of the mirror. He couldn’t see to the other side, but he had fifty bucks saying the man on the other side had a view. The same view he was looking at right now.

His view was of Ethan—himself. He scratched his chin. Swept his tongue around his front teeth. Wrinkled his lips. The man in the mirror was a man he held in high regard. A man of integrity. A man who resembled his father: strong jaw, piercing black eyes. And now, his hair was thinning at an early age. The hair loss had begun in his twenties. He calculated how long it would take before he would need to shave his head bald just as his father had done. He ran his hand over his black, slicked down waves. Two years tops, he thought.

He heard the heat blowing through the vent again. Sweat trickled from his scalp, down his neck, all the way down to the crack of his ass. He grimaced. Circles of sweat were visible at his armpits. His pale blue shirt was now polka dotted with darker blue circles. He took off his tie and loosened the top two buttons.

He glared at the mirror. They were not going to sweat him. He was a King. And the Kings are the apotheosis of human kind. They always rise to the summit. He turned sideways. Tipped his chin toward the ceiling, cut his eyes at the mirror.

“Ready when you are, Detective.”

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