Tristan was increasingly puzzled. "Then what did you spend your childhood doing?"

Anthony furrowed his brows. How was he supposed to know? Not like he remembered a whole lot from his childhood. "I don't remember."

And still his confusion grew. "You don't remember your childhood?"

Isn't that....normal? "Well, I do, just not a lot." He crossed his arms defensively.

"What do you remember?" Tristan encouraged.

Anthony was about to cross his arms, before he realized that he'd already done that. "I don't want to tell you."

Slightly annoyed, Tristan nodded. "Anything else I should know regarding your mental state?" He had already largely made up his mind. The man might be below average on intelligence, but he did not come across as entirely stupid or unable to understand his own actions - although he certainly seemed to have the self-reflective capacities of a newborn. And though the man seemed to suffer from some kind of melancholia, he was not insane. He was just a twit.

Anthony frowned, and shrugged yet again. "I don't know." It's not like he knew what was noteworthy enough to be mentioned. So he just uncrossed his arms and went quiet.

Tristan nodded. He closed his notepad and put back in his briefcase. "Thank you, Mr. Rowe. It's up to the constable now." He rose.

And that made Anthony nervous. "Right. Thanks. I guess." He ran his fingers through his hair.