The old detective opened the door to the interrogation room, dingy with faded green paint, and slammed it. The young clean-cut man at the table winced at the bang, but he had been sweating already.
“Okay – we’ve got you on arson, and assaulting two cops with a deadly. You verbally threatened everyone from the car to this goddamn room. What’s your beef?”
The young man sighed – sagged in his chair. “I didn’t threaten anyone. I was just saying what’s going to happen.”
The detective turned, spat in the corner, then glared at the young man. “What, you a psychic?”
The young man coughed. “No. I’m a biotech for the Rand Corporation. I develop germ weapons.”
The cop stopped cold. “What?”
“I figured out two hours ago that I screwed up today. Took my work home with me.” He coughed once, slightly raspy.
“Do they know?”
“No point. Only answer was to burn the whole thing. Your friends stopped me.”
The cop coughed once, slightly raspy.
The young man sighed. “You might want to find some gasoline. You know – save the world.”