I wasn’t a complex human being with a story. I was a file number.
I was the monster who had T-boned a family minivan, shattered a civilian’s collarbone, and cowardly fled the scene into the dark.
I could feel the hostility radiating from the desks as I was paraded past them.
They didn’t put me in a general holding cell because the hit-and-run involved severe bodily injury. It was a high-priority felony.
They walked me straight into the violent crimes division and shoved me into interrogation room B.
The room
