“So it’s a subpoena.”

“It’s a subpoena, and I have a county judge who would sign one for a parking ticket.

Ask him for this, and the paper sits under his coffee cup until November eighteenth.” Hale looked up.

“That’s the grand jury session.

That’s the clock, Captain, not mine.”

Across the street, the courthouse windows were gray, half of them dark.

Two cars went past the end of the lot while we talked.

The second one slowed.