She walked from the employees’ parking lot by the Public Safety Building to the Main Street sidewalk and then across from the park and up the eight steps to the front entrance of city hall, taking them two at a time. The big set of double doors were clad in a dark metal that was supposed to look like bronze, unlike the glass doors from her childhood they had replaced. The glass had allowed kids like her to stare inside down the long corridor and watch people on their way to and from official affairs. The bronze ones reminded Leah of the doors of a church, but an ugly church.

She tugged the right door open and headed along the mirror-polished marble floor to the place where Sergeant Tim Munson stood waiting to operate the metal scanning machine. When she was close enough, Munson said, “Evening, Lieutenant.”

She said, “Evening, Sergeant,” as she took off her utility belt, with her badge, sidearm, and handcuffs on it, and set it in the plastic bin on the metal table. “Everybody in there waiting for me?” She put her phone in the bin and stepped through the metal detector.

“It’s not eight o’clock yet, but I think they’re ready for you.” He picked up the bin holding her equipment and said, “You know I have to lock these up while you’re in a council meeting, right? No firearms, no phones?”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ve been to the council.” She knew the gun ban was a tradition that dated to the city’s founding in 1873. As he put the belt and phone into the lock box below the table, she started in the direction of the council chamber. “See you later.”

She walked to the door of the city council chamber and opened it. The seven council members were not in their semicircular row of seats facing the audience, the way they were at open, official meetings. They were sitting around the big table where the citizens who had business before them sat. As Leah walked down the aisle between the two halves of the chamber, the mayor said, “We saved a seat for you, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mayor.” She sat in the empty seat at the foot of the table.

The mayor said, “You all know Detective Lieutenant Leah Hawkins.”

Of course they did, and if they hadn’t before, they would have learned in the past months. Tonight was their third closed meeting with her during that time.

Linda Harris said, “Yes, of course.” She and most of the others gave Leah a wave or a nod.

But Mayor Donaldson persisted. “And Lieutenant, you undoubtedly know City Attorney Phil Haymes. He wasn’t here for the other meetings.”

She said, “We went to high school together. Hi, Phil.”

“Hi, Leah.”