He extended his arm behind him and pointed toward an open door halfway down the hall, "That's my office right there, miss. Would you like some coffee? I've got a Keurig; no two-day-old sludge from a pot, I swear!"
He flashed her his winningest smile, full of teeth and earnestness.
Emily pulled at her sweatpants and thought, suspiciously, He's trying too hard, but she reluctantly allowed Detective Warren to lead her into his office. It was dark in there, illuminated only by the glow of his computer monitor, and the shadows seemed to close in from the corners as she sat in the frayed vinyl chair before his desk. It creaked as she sat, bringing to her mind visions of it breaking beneath her and sending her crashing to the floor. She remained still and sat perfectly upright as Warren plopped himself into his seat on the other side of the desk. He reached out and snapped on a desk lamp in the shape of a man holding a big-ass gun.
Emily blinked at the unexpected discovery and asked, "Is - is that lamp... Clint Eastwood?"
Warren looked away from his monitor briefly and followed her scornful gaze to the hideous lamp that adorned his otherwise monotonous desk. He smiled again, but not the creepy TV game show host one that dripped with insincerity; this was the honest smile of embarrassment, "Yeah. A gift from my sister. She always calls me 'Dirty Harry.'"
"Huh," Emily dragged her teeth over her bottom lip, "your name is Harry?"
"No. Its just a joke."
"So anyway, would you mind repeating your story to me? I only caught the tail-end of it when you were talking to Officer Braddock."