I sat under the fluorescent lighting, turning the coffee cup idly in my hands. This was by far the worst coffee I had ever tasted, like thick, bitter ink, and no amount of sugar could make it palatable. After what seemed like hours, the detective finally entered the room, and slid into the seat across the table.
"Well, Mr. St. Pierre, I've spoken with Miss Clarke, and she has corroborated your story. But what I'd like to know is why on earth did you attempt to go in alone? You could have gotten both of you killed."
"Look," I willed myself to be patient as I set aside my cup and splayed my hands on the table. "Carson is a trained security agent. And that building has acoustics like a church. A mouse can't fart in there without the whole place echoing. There is no way you could have gotten
