Chapter 8

But when you worked at a police station, it was inevitable that you would have to go to hospitals, like right now, since they had just taken the declaration of an old lady whose purse had been stolen and was in the emergency room to make sure nothing had been broken.

The lady had been kind and even rather rational while giving her statement, especially considering her age. But Thomas had spent half the time tapping his pen on his notebook, constantly moving his right foot to stretch his ankle, trying to find a way to keep his body busy with something other than inhaling illness smell and foul air.

“Doyle, shit, what’s up your ass?” Anne hissed as they exited the little room, heading toward the exit across the corridor.

“I don’t like hospitals.”

“Sure, because I really love them, right?”

“You’re normal.”

“I might have something to say about that.”

“Actually, me too.” Thomas smiled and shook his head, giving his colleague a look.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked.