Chapter Forty Three:
The precinct was a hive of frantic, low-frequency energy. The air was thick with the scent of burnt coffee, stale paper, and the rhythmic, percussive clatter of typewriter keys and ringing telephones. Dust motes danced in the shafts of harsh fluorescent light that cut through the haze of cigarette smoke clinging to the ceiling. Officers moved with a weary purpose, their holster straps creaking, while the distant, muffled sound of a suspect shouting in an interrogation room provided a grim backdrop to the morning's chaos.
