“Mind if I close the door, Henrietta?” the cop inquiries.
“Not at all, Detective Miller,” she says, bright eyed and cheery. “Shall I stay in the room? Or would you rather I leave?”
Miller shakes his head, purses his lips.
“I don’t mind if you don’t mind, Mr. Jobz,” he says.
Like Henry said, Miller is a tall drink of water. She must have gotten a look at him already via the CSC security feed on her laptop. He’s at least six feet tall and thin if not wiry. He must be a jogger. A marathoner even, even at his age which must be about sixty or so. Maybe older. His hair is white and brush cut short, his face clean shaven, jaws concave and tight, eyes blue, his light blue suit looks tailored. Clint Eastwood, as an older, more mature Dirty Harry.
He sits himself down beside me.
“I don’t m
