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Staring at the uniformed man sitting across from her, Sierra wondered if there was some unwritten rule about police officers sporting a protruding belly that sagged over their tight belts like a muffin top, or if it was purely accidental that officer Tennison was the epitome of the lazy Hollywood cop. Not that she had anything against fat cops, but she would definitely advise him to cut down the carbs and go for a swim or maybe a bike ride if he expected to catch any bad guys in the near future.
She had ended up at the police station after Walter called 911 in a panic. They had managed to understand his hurried explanation and minutes later security informed a police car was waiting for permission to be let in. After that things had gotten kind of messy. They had called a crew, removed the arm off the water, and taken Brett, Walter and her to the station for questioning. Just as she was leaving Sierra spotted a pair of forensics heading inside. The image was still engraved in her mind, leaving her uneasy.
Tennison flicked his pen backwards and forwards between his middle and index fingers as he studied the notes spread out in front of him. Something in his hand caught her attention, a slight discoloration on his skin, a pale thin line circling around one of his fingers, barely noticeable if it weren't for the olive tint of his skin.
She immediately felt guilty for her previous thoughts. Here the poor man was going through a difficult time-probably a divorce-and she was giving him shit about letting himself go. As if he didn't have enough already. Her gaze moved to the hard lines on his face. He looked tired.
After a few minutes where she squirmed in her seat, studying her surroundings and wondering who was behind that dark panel she assumed to be a privacy glass from the hundreds of murder mysteries she'd watched on TV, Tennison finally acknowledged her presence with a throat clearing.
"So, Miss Rogers. Right?"
"Right." She planted her elbows on the desk in a businesslike manner. Somehow all those series and she didn't have a clue how to behave in a situation like this. Her palms were sweating. When did her palms start sweating?
"You've been working at the Georgia aquarium for seven months." It wasn't a question. She answered nonetheless.
