A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit

It was not right.

Miller had never asked for an archive key at the end of a shift in the three years I had worn this badge.

I folded the sack back into his hand.

“Eat this.

I have one more page to look at.”

“Sergeant.” He did not move.

“My grandmother asks about you.

She wants to know if you’re eating.”