O’Connell arrives home in darkness, flicking on his dim kitchen light, grimacing slightly. The sink is piled with dishes, teetering dangerously. The ivory bench littered with crumbs, the tiled linoleum not as white as it should be. He strides over to the metal table on the left side of the room and shoves a mass of papers, pens and scraps covering its surface towards the back. He takes off his grey jacket and throws it on top of the high pile, causing it to lean dangerously. He covers the new vacant space with his sports bag and unzips it lightly, shuffling its contents until his hands grasp onto a solid black object. He yanks it out and tosses the bag onto the floor, pulling a metal chair out at the same time. He studies the object, a voice recorder, before pressing the play button.
“What I saw, it’s bad enough to get him a thousand life sentences.” Jennifer’s voice resonates. O’Connell clicks the pause button, re-winds for a second and presses play again. “What I saw, it’s bad enough to get him a thousand life sentences.”