Sam put his hand in his pocket after he took it back from Norman. He wanted to scrub it clean but that could wait. Technically this is not supposed to be his kind of problem. Norman was human. Really, really human. Sam was supposed to hunt the things in the night that weren't human. Regular old psychos were supposed to be handled by regular old police.
None of those around here, though, were there?
Sam made a little sound in the back of his throat when Fred said 'mother.' A short cough covered it. "What kind of people have come by?" Sam said, with what appeared to be idle curiosity. He smiled a little at Norman, complacent.