“The fifteenth isn’t my deadline.”

“No, ma’am.

It’s Julian’s.” He tapped the doorframe twice.

“The lawyers on Putnam Street think they’re meeting a clerk who spent her summer buried in a probate file.

Let them believe they’ve cornered a clerk, and we’ll show them a colonel.”

I didn’t call ahead.

Jenkins had the sedan idling at bay four before I got there, which meant he had been waiting on me longer than he cared to admit.

He held the back door open.