Baimu didn't panic.
He had no reason to. "Has there been a murder on Ula'ula Island?"
"Don't change the subject, and don't think you can fool me some other way. You might talk your way out of trouble, but you can't fool these eyes."
Nanu shook his head. Go one day without practice and you got rusty; go three and you became an amateur.
A leisurely retirement had cost him many of his professional skills.
But the sharp eyes that decades of experience had given him were one thing time hadn't taken away. He had always been good at reading people.
A murderous aura lingered around the young man before him. It was concealed—or perhaps simply fading with time—but to Nanu, it shone like Fluorescent in the dark.
Someone who had taken a life was fundamentally different from everyone else.
That was the conclusion Nanu had drawn from decades with the International Police and countless criminals. His instincts had never been wrong.
"Time doesn't wash away the smell of blood," he said.
"..."
Baimu's right eyelid twitched wildly. He had no answer.
"Show me your identification and put your hands where I can see them," Nanu said. "For safety reasons, I'm going to search you.
"Don't bother resisting. If you really are innocent, that's all the more reason not to. I'm sure you understand how serious this is."
He took a gleaming pair of handcuffs from his pocket and set them on the table with a click.
"Hold on."
Baimu promptly raised his hands in surrender. "Please allow me to make my excuses."
Nanu amiably reached for his right hand. "All right. I'll leave you one hand free."
Baimu could easily have dodged, but to avoid escalating things, he resigned himself to being handcuffed to the table.
That changed everything.