Parasol Prompt - Part 6
Connelly typed a few more lines of information into the computer, then printed out a sticker and affixed it to a visitor badge. He handed the badge to Ida and she carefully clipped it to the front of her dress.
"Thank you, Officer," she smiled. "May I go through now?"
"Go ahead," he said, hitting a button to unlock the door. "Sampson is waiting for you at the end of the hall."
Ida thanked the officer once more, then proceeded through the nearby door. The hallway on the other side was far more dingy than the waiting area had been. The walls were scuffed and dirty, the floor had dirt and bits of debris on it, and there were no more paintings hung for display. She had been told, once, that the hallway was where detainees often struggled with the officers and that any decoration had long since been destroyed.
"Welcome, Lady Ida. It's been awhile," greeted Officer Sampson, his voice booming over the chatter in the office.
Ida smiled at the sight of the man, his imposing frame seeming to fill the space at the end of the hallway. He easily towered over Ida, even though she was of an average height, and his shaggy brown hair and beard made him look more like a viking than an officer. Or perhaps, more appropriately, like a scruffy, oversized teddy bear.
"Hello, Gregory! How have you been?"
"Can't complain," he answered, ushering her into the large, open office. The din of voices in the crowded office quickly drowned out most other sounds, so he bent down toward her ear and added, "Though it's a bit busy today."
"Goodness!" she exclaimed, taking in the chaotic scene. "Was there a riot? I've never seen so many people in here!"
Each of the ten desks had at least three people crowded around it, often one officer and two civilians. The chatter wasn't deafening, but it all blended together into a constant noise and Ida couldn't make out what any one of them were saying.
Sampson shrugged. "Who knows why the flood gates open. We're just here to clean up the mess. Come on, let's head to one of the interrogation rooms."
He led Ida through the maze of desks and to a metal door at the back of the office, swiping his badge across an electronic reader that disengaged the lock. He hurried them through and into an empty corridor, the noise of the office fading into a faint, muffled sound as the door closed.
The familiar corridor was lined with doors, six on each side, before spilling out into a second office space. Ida could hear the clicking of keys and the hum of a printer coming from the office, but it was otherwise quiet.
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