The homeless man's voice was hoarse, like a long-dormant machine grinding to life. His eyes were fixed on the wallet, brimming with such intense craving that he disregarded his predicament and lunged for it.
The homeless man hadn't said a word from the moment he came down from the tree to when he was arrested and locked in a cell. But now, a wallet had finally made him speak.
Heath Hale took a step back, raising a hand to dodge the man's grasp. "This isn't yours," he said calmly. "It belongs to a young woman.
How did you get it? Did you steal it? Snatch it? Or did you just find it?"
The homeless man glared at Heath Hale, a guttural "Heh... heh..." rumbling in his throat.
"I took it off her! It's mine! You're the thief! Give it back to me!" The homeless man's eyes blazed with a furious, wild rage, like a cornered beast about to snap. It was a terrifying sight.
Heath Hale knew gentle persuasion wouldn't work on someone like this. He needed a different approach.
