A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit
Vance picked up her glasses.
“Sergeant Conroy.
Thirteen hundred hours.
Base Legal.”
Vivian caught me at the water fountain outside the legal office before I reached the stairwell.
Her white silk scarf was knotted too tight at her throat.
She kept twisting the thin gold chain around her left wrist.
“Sergeant Conroy. Please.”
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