““First visit?” he asked. “Yeah.” My eyes roamed the cluttered cabin while I adjusted my ponytail and shifted my weight on my feet. “Don’t worry, it’s not like they show it in the movies.” He gave me a gap-toothed smile. “What, no shaved heads, padded cells or lobotomy scars?” His laugh was as rough as his East-End accent. “Exactly. I’m going to have to hold onto this, my darling,” he said, waving my phone in his sausage fingers. “You’re confiscating my iPhone?” “No recording or internet enabled... devices. Standard rules for visiting the forensic unit. You can have it back on your way out.” I nodded. What choice did I have? He gripped my purse in both hands and slid it back across the table. “Thanks,” I said curtly, closing the catch and hitching the strap over my shoulder. I’d hoped to get a photo of my mother’s tattoo, to compare it with Konstantyn’s, and to show her the photo I had of his, but that wasn’t going to happen. “You’ll need this,”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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