Chapter ThirteenLynn sat at a folding table in a closet sized interrogation room, the remnants of a cup of coffee, now old and cold, the only item on the table. A chunky man in his late forties leaned back in the chair directly across from her. His close-cropped hair was a thinning brown on top, encircled by a ring of gray above the ears. Deep set and intense brown eyes seemed to contrast with the friendly features of his rounded face. It occurred to Lynn that he looked like her grandfather possessed by Charles Manson. He stared at Lynn, waiting. Off to Lynn's left, a female, uniformed officer sat in a folding chair by the door. A witness to any evidence extracted from Lynn.
“I'm not charged with killing Henry, right Sergeant Young?” Lynn said, with annoyance in her tone.
The man looked
