A White Mercedes Pulled Up to Gate Six on a Tuesday Afternoon Without a Permit
Bring me your name on the bottom in the morning.”
I picked up the folder.
I left the pen where it was.
Vivian Harmon was waiting at the water fountain in the headquarters hallway, a white silk scarf knotted at her throat, working her thin gold chain around her wrist.
“Sergeant Conroy. Two minutes.”
“I have a duty log to file, ma’am.”
“This is the two minutes.” She stepped into my path in the hallway.
“I behaved badly on Tuesday.
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