Colonel Bruce Harmon had the iced tea poured before I got the door shut behind me.

“Sergeant Conroy. Sit down, please.”

I sat.

The glass sweated a ring onto a square coaster, and his silver fountain pen tapped the blotter twice and went still.

My hand found the brass buckle on my belt and centered it.

“I’ve been unfair to you,” he said.

“A sergeant with three children at home shouldn’t be standing out in ninety-six degrees arguing with an officer’s wife over a clipboard.”

“Sir, the roster was altered before I ever walked out to that gate.”