the center of the steel table.
“Sit tight,” he muttered, not making eye contact.
The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him. The deadbolt engaged with a loud, final clack.
Then the waiting game began.
This is standard police procedure.
It’s designed to let the isolation and the ticking clock erode the suspect’s sanity. They leave you alone in the freezing room so your imagination can torture you with visions of a prison sentence, breaking your psychological defenses before the detective even walks through the door.
But I didn’t panic.
