The corridor ended in a pair of twelve-foot rosewood double doors with a pair of brass name plaques affixed to them: Armand Arlington, Chairman of the Board, and directly under it in smaller letters, Ms. Monique Scott, Executive Secretary. He swung one door open, almost clipping the receptionist, and marched into the interior office. A statuesque blonde stood up and glared at both of them.

“He just stormed past me, Ms. Scott. I—”

“I’ll handle it, Jeanine. Go back to your desk.”

Decker locked eyes with Scott. The stuff of which dreams are made, Mama. She was in her late twenties, with wide-set gray eyes and full, bee-stung lips. Decker smiled. She didn’t. Her eyes hardened into cold, metal dimes.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“I’d like to see Mr. Arlington,” he said.

“He’s not here.”

“Then I’ll wait in his office.”

“The adjoining door is locked and I’m not about to buzz you in.”

She sauntered to the front of her desk and placed her hands on her hips.

“Listen, sir, I don’t know who you think you are storming your way in like this, but Mr. Arlington doesn’t see anyone without an appointment. If you don’t leave, I’m going to call Security.”

Decker flashed her his badge and Ms. Scott sighed.

“What seems to be the trouble, Officer?”

“It’s personal, ma’am.”

She dialed a number and spoke into the receiver in a carefully modulated voice.

“Mr. Arlington won’t be available for another three hours,” she told him.

“I’ll wait.” Decker held up a folder he was carrying. “I’ll just do a little work in the meantime.”

He sat down in a brocade wingback.

“I’d prefer that you wait outside in the receiving office. The chairs are quite comfortable out there. I’ll have Jeanine bring you coffee if you’d like.”

“It’s a lot quieter in here,” Decker answered without budging.

“It’s impossible for me to concentrate with you here.”

“I’ll be real quiet.”

She glared at him, but returned to her desk chair and lit a cigarette.

“Oh, you smoke,” he said. “Then you don’t mind if I do?”

“I only have one ashtray. There are several outside.”

“I like to share.” Decker lit up, walked over to the desk, lit a match, and tossed it in the crystal dish. Standing over her shoulder, he peered at her paperwork.

“Officer, I find it difficult to work with you breathing down my neck.”

“Oh, sorry.” He backed away. “I was just curious about what you do. People ask me all the time about my work.”

She didn’t answer. Walking back to his chair, he took off his jacket.

“I work in Sex Crimes, you know.”

She looked up at him. When he had caught her eye, he unhitched his gun and opened the barrel, dumping the bullets into his palm.