Page 220 of Chameleon Killer

Overkill. Or preparation. Take your pick.

“Start again,” Warren said.

“I've already given you my statement.”

“You've given me three versions of why you continued questioning McBryan after counsel terminated the line.”

“I was clarifying.”

Warren gave me a bland look. “Her attorney said stop.”

“I stopped.” I refused to defend it.

“Eventually.”

I didn't answer.

Warren’s gaze remained on me. “Why did you ask whether the subject told McBryan you knew why Guy Reardon died?”

“I was assessing the scope of the compromise.” I kept my tone even and my expression bland.

“Whose?”

“The investigation.” I had an answer for each item and I didn’t struggle or appear to need time to come up with the right information. This was just another conversation.

“That's not what I asked.” Warren clasped his hands together on the desk and continued to study me.

Since we were going to be in here for a while, I took the other chair and leaned back.

Warren waited.

People always believed silence belonged to the person who could tolerate it longest. Usually they were right.

“The unsub demonstrated knowledge of protected information,” I said.

“What protected information?” Warren’s brows raised as though he were still seeking answers to his questions. He had these answers, they were in reports. What he wanted was to catch an error.

“The Reardon inquiry.” Despite the hour, despite the lack of sleep, and despite the hideously bad coffee—I kind of liked it that way—I didn’t let fatigue mar my perceptions.

“Specifically.” Warren tapped the desk with one finger for each syllable in the word.

I looked at him. His expression remained bland. I knew this technique. I'd taught it.

“Medical evidence.”

“What medical evidence?” He was going to dissect everything I said, so I’d make him work for it.

“The toxicology.” One would think that was clear when there was a second toxicology report. But I digressed…

Leaning back in his seat, Warren’s posture relaxed by fractions and he folded his hands over his stomach. “Which toxicology?”

The trap wasn't particularly subtle. “The second order.”

“And when did you learn there was a second order?”

“During review.” Yes, if he wanted to parse every action, every word, every definition, then I’d let him ask the questions and I’d only answer what was asked. There were many ways this game could be played.

I knew all of them.