"Amadeus Yancey demanded to see soone, and Simon Cadwell dared not refuse to take this influential figure to et them.
After briefly instructing the female police officer, he led the way to find the relevant parties.
Amadeus Yancey wasted no ti; his eyes darkened as he tucked the girl’s hair behind her ear, pinching her fingertips, then said to Audrick Zachmann, "It’s cold, Nathalie is dressed lightly. Take her to the car and wait for – I’ll be out soon after I wrap things up here."
"Alright," Audrick Zachmann agreed quickly, bypassing the female officer with no regard for the small-town McKinney police station, never considering that Nathalie would need to continue her statent.
Alfred Garland spoke in a low voice, "Amadeus, I’ll co with you."
"As you like," Amadeus Yancey didn’t say he wouldn’t take him along.
Alfred Garland took that as consent, following closely behind him and Simon Cadwell as they walked into the police station.
*
In several interrogation rooms of the police station, the police were at a loss with the streetwise youths seated before them.
"Why did you go after that girl with clubs? What did she do to provoke you all?"
None of the hooligans replied, all affecting a laissez-faire attitude, even though their faces bore bruises and so were still bleeding from their noses. They looked pitiful, as if not the aggressors but the victims of a beating.
"I’m asking you a question! Have you all gone mute?!"
Non-cooperative, the police officer taking down the statent was fizzling with anger. He banged the table repeatedly, chastising loudly, "You’re already in the police station. Do you think keeping quiet will an nothing happened? Speak up and you might get lenient treatnt, but if you refuse to talk..."
"Tsk." The muscular man sitting there scoffed at that mont, lifted his chin in defiance, and said provocatively, "Big brother, what do you want us to say? We admit it, we fought. Deal with us however you see fit – we have no objections."
The police officer slamd down a water cup; the cup’s bottom clanked on the table with a heavy sound, "Is that what I asked? I’m asking why you targeted that girl. Do you know her? Or did soone send you to hassle her?"
He’d received a phone call from above instructing a thorough investigation. He dared not take it lightly, but these guys were smooth operators, accustod to being hauled into the station for brawling and well-versed in interrogation procedures, not at all intimidated.
He couldn’t get anything out of them.
Indeed, as soon as he asked about this, they ignored him completely.
As if to say, guess for yourself.
Just then, the door to the interrogation room opened.
Light stread in from outside.
The police officer turned around to see Simon Cadwell leading two young n inside, the foremost man of an extraordinary deanor, accompanied by another tall figure who, in the man’s presence, showed restraint, clearly deferring to him.
He hurriedly stood up, respectfully acknowledging, "Mr. Cadwell."
"Hmm," Simon Cadwell gestured for him not to be nervous. He scanned the bruised youths and asked, "Did you get anything out of them?"
The officer hung his head in embarrassnt, "No, they’re not willing to speak."
Simon Cadwell felt a headache coming on, frowning, he said, "If they’re not willing to talk, you need to find a way to make them talk!"
It was then that Mr. Yancey stepped forward, pulled out a chair in the interrogation room, sat down with a relaxed posture of his long legs sprawled out, his eyes narrowed, his voice very deep, "I’ll do it."
"Mr. Yancey, you..." Simon Cadwell paused, startled.
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