My head was aching, but I spent the next four hours questioning Irwin Snyder in a bare, white-washed claustrophobic room at a jail in Charlotte. For the first hour or so, Kyle and I interrogated him together, but it didn’t work out. I asked Kyle to leave the room.  Snyder was shackled, so I felt safe being alone with him. I wondered how he felt?
My arm and hand were beginning to throb, but this was more important than my flesh wounds. Irwin Snyder had known I was coming to Charlotte. How had he known? What else did he know?  How was a vicious young killer in Charlotte connected to the rest of this mess?
Snyder was pale and unhealthy-looking, with a scruffy goatee and sideburns. He stared at me with eyes that were dark, very active, intelligent enough.
Then he laid his head down on the Formica table, and I lifted him right out of his chair by his hair. He cursed at me for a full minute.  Then he demanded to see his lawyer.
‘Hurts, doesn’t it,’ I said. ‘Don’t make me do it again. Keep your head off the table. This isn’t naptime. It isn’t a game either.’ He gave me the finger, then put his head back down on the table.  I knew he’d been getting away with this type of shit at school and in his home for years. But not here, and not with me.  I yanked him by his greasy, black hair again, even harder this time............