He blew off the steam, sending it my way, and lifted the mug toward his mouth. I looked away, hoping somehow that if I didn’t look, I wouldn’t be able to hear the slurping noises as clearly as I had a moment before, but, once again, the technique was a complete failure. The detective’s swallowing sounds filled the small room. I sat as patiently as I could. After all, it was a Saturday morning, and I’d expected to tell my concerns to the on-duty deputy up front. Once I’d started talking, however, he’d called the detective, and here we were, back in the interview room. Ash was off this weekend, helping his mom with some outside chores, and I hadn’t wanted to bother him. “My apologies, Ms. Hamilton,” the detective said, setting the mug onto the table. “My daughter and our new grandchild are staying with us for a few nights while her husband is out of town on business. It’s wreaking havoc on my sleep patterns. What do you have for me this morning?
