“First time I’ve been called ‘God’,” Martinez said, his eyes amused. I opened my mouth to make a ribald comment before clamping it shut again. I had the sneaking suspicion that Martinez knew what I was about to say because he was openly smirking. His voice was all business, however, when he asked if I’d spotted anything yet.
“No,” I said, discouraged. “This is like the proverbial needle in a haystack. How do you not go insane doing this kind of work?”
“It’s better than factory assembly,” Martinez said, shaking his head. “I did that every summer during my high school years, and there is nothing more tedious than putting together the same two pieces over and over again for eight hours a day. Don’t let it get to you. Just think of it as a scavenger hunt.”
“Some prize,” I murmured, turning another page.
“Well, I have to go,” Detective Martinez said, looking at his watch. “Johnson here will keep an eye out for you. If you need anything, let him know.” I looked up, startled to see an officer in the room. I hadn’t heard him come in, which made me exceedingly uneasy. He looked as if he were fresh out of training, and he certainly didn’t look old enough to be a cop with his round cheeks and clear blue eyes.
“Ma’am,” Johnson said, nodding his head.
“It’s Scar. Or Ms. Hsu,” I said sharply. He made me feel a hundred years old when he called me ‘Ma’am.’ “How am I supposed to find you?”
“Is this right?” The police sketch artist, name of Meg, held up a composite. We were in an interview room, and I was starting to get claustrophobic.