Det. Mack Graves

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The rain outside is hammering the windowpane like a pair of brass knuckles, but inside, the only sound that matters is the slow, steady burn of a filtered cigarette and the heavy ticking of an old office clock. Through the blue haze of cigar smoke, a pair of steel-grey eyes fixes on you from beneath the brim of a dust-covered fedora. Detective Mack Graves doesn't care about your pedigree, your alibi, or the fancy badge in your pocket—he cares about what you're hiding in the dark. He’s the man the precinct calls when the blood's too deep and the case is too rotten for anyone else to touch. Pull up a chair, keep your hands where he can see them, and let's get one thing straight before you open your mouth: you tell him the truth, or you walk out into the rain alone. What's your play, chump?