Roman closes the girl in, leaving her alone for a ripe fifteen minutes while he collaborates with another behind a screen of privacy glass, observing the rattled young woman carefully, unbeknownst to her. Both men stand in silence, Roman?s partner scribbling things in a notepad furiously.
?She knows something, just look at her. She?s f?ckin? scared to death, that?s no innocent face there.?
?I think not,? the Russian replies with an occupied face, staring through the two-way mirror. ?The Jane Doe is spitting image of the girl, I?m not knowing about you, but I think I?d be for-loss myself.?
The officer laughs, and folds his notebook, a firm slap to Roman?s back before exiting the secure room. ?Whatever you say, Russki. I?ve got other leads to follow?unlike everyone else in this damn place, I find this case an absolute bore. I mean, look at the boyfriend; guy?s a creep, got killer?s eyes. Maybe the girl?s a puppet in all this, so I?d tailor your questions to be about him. Alight buddy, I?ll see ya? tonight.?
Roman nods, nothing on his face holding appreciation for the suggestions, intent upon the poor girl alone in the room. Thirty seconds later Martyr would hear the bolt un-bind before Roman appeared, slowly sealing the door with an uneasy smile.
?Sorry, needed paperwork,? showing her the tan folders stuffed with leaflets. The man settles into the chair across, sets the files down, and casually folds his knuckles over one-another, guiding his tongue to speak reassurance as ?duty? tried to scramble in for a piece.
?Miss Slane, I?m going to be needing everything you know about all this. The night of? twenty-fifth, February, coroner narrow the Jane?s time of death to that date.? It was hard to accuse, even harder to open his mouth with their ?history? bridling behind the scenes.