Jacob Wolmin shimmies in his seat, hands clasped in his lap, it’s been three days. His eyes fall to the ground, black hair slick with sweat and grease. Across the metallic table are two members of the Montreal Police Department, a blonde tapping his pen against the desk, the other, a stockier man leaning back in his seat.

“Now, I’m going to ask you again.” The bulkier one begins, his face illuminated by a gritty overhead lamp, giving them all a mild headache. “When did you notice something was wrong?”

“When I saw the police cars outside,” Jacob replies, legs shaking, listening to the rhythmic clinking of his ankle restraints.

“It’s convenient you have an alibi.” The blonde chimes in, crossing his arms on the table. He tilts his head, letting Jacob breathe in the silence, all except his clanking. “Allegedly minutes before she goes missing.”

“I didn’t do anything. I promise I’ve kept my story straight this entire time!” Jacob pleads, wrists fighting their cuffs, smashing into his lap, but he misses the chair by a few centimeters. “Please, I’ve been compliant, I told you all I know. I’m not a part of this!”

“But you defend the suspect?” Both officers glance at each other, smirking as if they enjoy seeing him frantic. “You refused the plea deal.”

“I’m not saying anything I don’t know for sure.” Jacob sneers, hands trembling in his lap. “I never said I defended him.”

Both officers stand in unison, the blonde slipping his pen back into his pocket. “We’ll try again tomorrow when you have something new to say.”

“No, no, please! I need to speak to my Eomma! Please, don’t leave yet!” Jacob tries to stand, but the chair is bolted to the floor. “I need to go home!”

The rusted metal door slams shut, thudding as the heavy deadbolt locks. Officer Beck removes his glasses and wipes them on his shirt.

“You think they’ll trust a schizophrenic in court?” Officer Shoemaker snickers, but there’s only disappointed silence.

“I’m afraid he’s all we have.”