THANK YOU, BABY STABBERThe tiny austere interrogation room was congested, its air rife with tension. It mimicked in this way the stricken city outdoors, burning in its sixth straight week of a record-breaking heat wave, in its season of great disquiet.
“We don’t have all day, Daniel,” said the grizzled detective in a calculatedly even tone, the refined product of a lifetime of experience in exactly such encounters. “You haven’t answered my questions yet and we’ve been here hours, talking in circles about this and that.” The smell of sweat hung in the air, giving him reason to consider the putrid stench permeating the streets: in ill-fated conjunction with the record temperatures had come the city worker’s garbage strike. Streets the city through were teeming with refuse, bags and cans and
