He sighs, downing his cup of coffee in a few gulps as he rubs his sleep deprived eyes. The dark liquid is already cold and the barista had forgotten the whipped cream–what a great way to start a Thursday morning.
He scratches his scraggly stubble as he gazes through the two way mirror at the convict. The short, skinny man seated at the table couldn’t be older than his youngest son. He sits calmly with his handcuffed hands clasped firmly in front of him. The neon orange jumpsuit hangs loosely from his bony limbs, pooling around his cuffed ankles. He holds his head high, proudly displaying the “GOD” tattoo wrapped around his neck in thick black letters. A hint of a smirk plays at the edges of his pale pink lips.
Another detective, younger, female, mid-thirties, walks up to the mirror, also holding a cup of Starbucks coffee.
“Luis Grey, 23, unemployed, lives with his now ex-girlfriend Jennifer.” she reports to her sergeant, looking up at his for instruction.
“How’s the girl?” he asks, looking down at his empty cup before dropping it into the wastebin to his right, disgusted at its lack of caffeine.
“She’s in recovery.”
“Has she woken up?”
“Not yet sir.”
“Have you spoken with the parents?”
“Porter and Johnson are with them now.”
He nods, taking in the new information. The coffee set his thoughts into motion (at last!) and he contemplates the next move.
“Find out anything you can about the girl through her parents. Interview her friends too. See if there’s anything that ties her to the group this scumbag belongs to, Predestination over Prediction. And check on the girlfriend, Jennifer.”
“Get me Abbott. He’s the best guy to interview this scumbag.”
The female detective turns to leave when the lieutenant says, “Ladner.”
“Yes sir?” she turns around, one foot still out the door. The fluorescent lights above them illuminate her hay-colored hair.
“Make sure he’s wearing his crucifix.” he says, never once looking at her. His eyes are fixed on the man seating in the room. He watches the murderer rub his neck, tracing the letters.
“God…” he scoffs to himself as the door closes behind the female detective. He thinks of his death prediction as his eyes remain fixated on the word. He flips open his badge and reads the word printed just below his name and identification number.
He scowls at the bold letters before pocketing the badge and returning his attention to the other side of the mirror.