Compound

“Look, I’m just having a few money problems, okay? I will pay for the room, I swear.” The man leaned over the table towards the bored-looking copper. 

“Skipping the hotel is the least of your worries, mate.” The sergeant replied. 

“On arrest, you were found to have this envelope in your possession. It contained a number of photographs. Can you tell me what these are?” The officer fanned out the photographs of the compound across the table. 

“No comment” The man replied. “Any sign of my solicitor?” He knew his solicitor would do everything in his power to avoid having to deal with him, but it was worth a shot. Stalling the questioning process was his only option. At least until he got his story straight. 

Wishing he’d managed to sleep, he rubbed his hands over his face. 

“It would be a hell of a lot easier if you just answer the questions. Are they yours?” The officer pressed. 

“No comment.” The man replied. Just sit tight. He needed more time to think. 

“Alright, we’ll do it your way. Interview terminated at 13:07.” The officer gathered up the papers and left. 

The man held his head in his hands. They knew something. Tracing him down to the hotel so quickly proved that. The photos proved nothing, just a group of buildings. No easily identifiable signs, vehicles, or people. But it was guarded, the camera masts and secure gates and armed guards showed it was a place of interest. 

He could murder a coffee. Not the best turn of phrase, given his current situation. The door to the interview room opened abruptly and he was ushered back down into the custody cell. 

A cold, weak cup of coffee came through the door hatch an hour later with the news that his solicitor was en route. The man lay down on the thin, blue mat and closed his eyes. 

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