You shifted your hand over the fleshy bruise encompassing your left eye. It was so embarrassing to even be here. You could handle yourself, you didn't need any damn police officer giving you fake sympathy.
The entirety of the bullpen seemed to be giving you the eye. Hardened criminals were handcuffed to benches, waiting for lawyers to arrive. Witnesses and bail bondsmen chatted with the officers at desks. And here you were, a young woman stranded on a cushy chair, looking like you had been in a bar brawl.
You ignored the curious looks and concentrated on the desk facing you. Not much to look at there. In fact, almost nothing. It was completely spotless, save a manilla folder positioned dead center. A singular black pen was positioned parallel to the document. If you had a ruler on you, which would be incredibly odd or coincidental, you would find everything spaced by exac