Joel Lambert, the officer in charge of this Spring Festival air-crash case, slammed a thick stack of photos onto the table.
In the photos were the plane's wreckage, charred limbs, and scattered luggage.
His eyes were bloodshot as he pointed at those photos, trembling. "Two hundred lives! Doesn't your conscience hurt?"
Sitting in the interrogation chair, I blew at the bangs on my forehead. "Officer, this isn't my fault."
Lambert was so furious that he trembled, pointing at me, unable to get the words out.
"Not your fault?"
"Because of your tantrum and rolling around, you delayed this flight by fifteen minutes!"
"If the flight had taken off normally, the plane would've avoided the air currents, and there wouldn't have been an accident like this!"
"You killed them! You!"
I curled my lip and snorted.
"Officer Lambert, your logic is hilarious."
"Then why don't you blame the ticket counter that sold the tickets? Why don't you blame the manufacturer that built the plane?"
"I just sat at the gate for a while. What, I used magic to shoot the plane down?"
Joel Lambert was so angry he snapped the pencil in his hand.
"Enough!" An older detective, Harper, stepped in from the doorway and steadied him.