They told me to be at the radio station by 4:30am, so there I was, alone, standing outside in the dark, staring up at the nondescript three-story building.
It was cold outside. Foggy. The office manager told me that someone would be there to meet me. I hadn’t yet earned access to the 4-digit security code that I’d soon learn was simply the building number.
As I awkwardly stood in front of the glass doors waiting for entry, a warbled voice shot out of the shadows.
“Muuurrrr-der-errrrrr.”
I jumped out of my skin.
MURDERER?
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