Opening a cabinet above he pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses, shuffling into the living room. Slowly I rose from the table and followed my host.
I retrieved the heavy file from my briefcase and brought it to the coffee table. Red poured Scotch into each glass.
Sitting down on the edge of the couch next to him, I pushed the folder toward him. Red took a sip from his glass, thumbing through the text files and photographs. The victims had been tortured, then suffocated. Red’s face blanched. Draining his glass, he winced then poured himself another.