rate data, and the real-time cellular triangulation of the three felons who actually orchestrated that crash.”
Detective Vance didn’t laugh.
He didn’t slam his hands on the table.
He just stared at me, the styrofoam coffee cup frozen halfway to his mouth.
The heavy, cynical superiority he had walked into the room with was suddenly suspended, entirely paralyzed by the absolute lack of fear in my posture.
In his 20 years on the force, he had interrogated murderers, gang enforcers, and white-collar embezzlers. They all had a tell, a twitch
