Adia’s question makes him smile, even though thinking too much about his job leaves a sour taste in his mouth. She’s also guessed correct. No one ever called in Detective Newendyke because they wanted to scare somebody into confessing.

“Nah, they don’t do that,” he says, leaning back against the bench, and taking out his cigarettes. He holds the open pack towards Adia in case she wants one, even if she’s not usually a smoker. She’s stressed, he figures. “What they do’s bad cop, worse cop.”

And after lighting a cigarette and exhaling a thin stream of smoke, he tells her, deadpan: “I was the worse cop.”