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Summary
"Jason Todd."
The man on the opposite side of the table shifts, leaning back a bit further in his chair to meet his eyes with the smallest possible tilt of his head. "That's my name, yeah."
His voice is on the deeper end, a hint of a smoker's rasp at the back of his throat. There's nothing to his tone but lazy amusement, like he hasn't been sitting in this little concrete room for the last four hours; no company but the little paper cup of water near his cuffed hands and the little blue light on the camera in the corner. That's not usually the reaction they get, and Dick privately thinks it's damning in its own right. Cops make people nervous. Being detained either makes people panic, or it makes them angry. Calm usually means guilty, not to mention arrogant.
A suspicious reaction doesn't count as evidence, though, so here they are.