CHAPTER 11
Twenty-five hours, Maschen thought as he rubbed a hand through his already-mussed hair. Twenty-five goddamned consecutive hours at this job. I’m getting too old for this sort of thing. I really am.
His eyes were refusing point-blank to focus on the wall in front of him. He was sure that they must be glowing like red embers by this time, he felt so bloodshot. He had had very little sleep the night before, being awakened early because of the Stoneham case. Then he had worked hard on that all day, and when he had been about to leave, the riot started. He had spent the rest of the night taking care of the administrative details that always followed in the wake of mass arrests. The cells at the Sheriff’s Station had never been made to hold seventy-three people at one time, and so h
