“Yes,” said Haymes. “But since the commander of the police department will, in effect, be our main expert in deciding how to spend the entire grant to make the city safer, it seems that entrusting her with a quarter of the sum is not excessive. And there’s an incentive not to spend unwisely, since if she wastes any of it, she’ll have less to spend later. It can only be used on law enforcement, and we’ve spent exactly none of the grant so far.”

“Okay,” said Hall. “Just wanted to know.”

“Any more discussion?” said the mayor. “No? Ayes? Nays? The motion passes unanimously. Mr. Haymes?”

Haymes stood up, took a folder out of his briefcase, and set his briefcase on the floor. He opened the folder and took out four sheets of vellum paper with the city’s crest embossed on them, a buffalo and an antelope in a blue circle with points around the edges, like those of a gear, and gold lettering saying, “The City of Weldonville, Colorado, 1873.”

He set them on the conference table, then set his fountain pen beside them. “I took the liberty of producing two documents to record the two unanimous resolutions the council has just made. I ask that the mayor and council sign your names on the lines at the bottom of each sheet now so that Lieutenant Hawkins will be able to take a copy of each with her. We’ll retain the other copy, of course.”

The council members each got up and signed where he had indicated, and then the mayor signed with a flourish. Haymes was the last to sign. Then he waved each sheet back and forth to dry the ink, and put two in one file and two in another.

“Any other new business?” Mayor Donaldson asked.

There was silence.

“Motion to adjourn,” said Stein. Four voices called, “Second.”

“Meeting adjourned.”

Linda Harris said, “Leah, we’ll miss you around here.” She got up and hugged her. “You and Kathy were such good friends that to me you seem like a relative. If you ever need somebody to talk to while you’re far away, I’m available.”

Linda Harris’s mentioning Kathy was a complicated gesture, and Leah Hawkins saw all sides of it. Kathy had been one of seven civilian workers at the prison on the night of July 19 two years ago, and she had not lived through it. In high school Kathy had been one of Leah’s special friends, a member of the league championship basketball team with her, and a great spiker on the volleyball team. Sports had been part of their solution to being two extra-tall girls in a small town. Boys were too self-conscious to ask them out, but they were invited to everything. Linda Harris was reminding Leah why she didn’t want Leah to go, but Kathy’s death was why she was right to learn to make people safer.