"Come in, Mister Alista." The warm voice of the man I had come to meet rang all through the room, and when I saw him, I knew I hadn't been wrong when I made a call to him the day Henry left my place.
I sat across from the investigator, taking my time to look around the room. The office smelt of stale coffee and paper. The light from the desk lamp cast long shadows across the investigator's face, making his sharp eyes stand out even more. I wasn't sure if the eyes were wise or just tired, but I didn't care much. I wasn't here to look at the face of the man I needed answers from.
"So," he began, his voice low and steady, "you want to know if your grandmother knew anything about your mother's death. And you're willing to pay for the answers."
I nodded, leaning forward in my seat, pressing my hands flat against the cold wood of the table. I had sent the details of what I wanted to him; seeing him was just to fulfil righteousness.
