Rough Cut Ch 11
Cigarette burns pockmarked the yellow surface of the long, oak table sitting in the center of the room. A single, overcrowded ashtray sat lonely on the table’s top. Stale smoke hung in the air and, judging from its lack of movement, could have been hanging there for years. The only window, placed too high on the wall to offer any real illumination, had wire covering its stippled glass. Officer Murphy guarded the door like a centurion – one who had just won a major battle. Sitting across from...