A single overhead bulb cast a cone of light around him. He had a glass of ice water. He’d dipped his handkerchief in it, had wrapped the wet cloth around the knuckles of his left hand. The story around the station was that Ball had gotten meaner after his wife took off. He was writing on a mostly blank piece of paper. It was already signed at the bottom. On the top, in big letters, it said: Confession. Detective Ball looked up. He and McGrady were the same age, but Ball had nearly ten years of seniority. He hadn’t wasted time going to college, going to China with a bunch of Marines. He’d
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All bully.
