“Detectives McMeel and Showalter, Precinct Nine and Three-Quarters,” says Showalter. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions.”
“मैं मà¥à¤¸à¥€à¤¬à¤¤ में हूà¤?” ask the suspicious yellow eyes in the crack of the door.
“We just need to know if you saw anything on the night of September… forty-eighth,” says Showalter, checking his notescroll. “There was an incident.”
“मैं सà¥à¤…रों से बात नहीं है!”
“We’re going to have to continue this downtown,” sighs McMeel.
They drop through a manhole and into a mine cart, whose blue-and-reds flicker on stalagmites as they hurtle toward the sub-sub-substation.