CHAPTER TEN
Under good lightning, Mr. Connolly looked far less like a threatening thug and far more like a nervous substitute teacher with a yellowish combover. His hands twisted nervously at each other, rattling the cuffs. He seemed to forget his range of motion was restricted and kept trying to reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes, but inevitably just jerked his other hand thanks to the chain.
This process repeated a few times while Ilse watched him curiously.
Sawyer, as he often did, was standing in the interrogation room, pacing behind the chair of Mr. Connolly.
Ilse sat upright across the table from their suspect. She glanced down at the printed information in front of her, cleared her throat, then said, “It doesn't look good for you, Ben. Do you mind if I call you Ben?”
“S
