“Any thought to warning me about her,” Lefleur grunted at the mousy junior agent.

Unphased, she shrugged, “We find it’s better to let people just experience her. Local PD’s out back for you.”

Waiting in the back garden stood a man nearly as wide as he was short, draped in a dingy trenchcoat. He turned his broad face to Lefleur and nodded a greeting. Pot marks and small scars dotted his face almost drawing attention from his bulbous, drinker’s nose.

“Det. Griffik?”

He grunted and stared off over the grounds.

“Thanks for meeting with me. I just want to assure you…”

“Save it. Do whatever you want or need, yada yada.”

Lefleur raised a querying eyebrow.

“Oh, right, I’m supposed to fume and fuss about jurisdiction and crap. Look, my old lady’s made me give up drinking, gambling, smoking, swearing, and well, look at me. Too late for chasin’ tail. Pal, I got no fight left, so the case is all yours.”

“Thanks, and sorry.” The two men stood silently for a while, nothing left to say.