There I was on the Monday day-watch: seated, rocking back and forth in a squeaky swivel chair, at what would be my own beat up, cigarette burn-scared, oak desk-complete with an in and out basket and doodle covered desk pad. I stopped rocking after a bit and patted my pockets in search of my Fatimas and a book of matches. Then I shook a smoke out of the pack, edged an old tin lid that was doing duty as an ashtray closer, lit up and drew in that first big drag of the day. As I blew out the smoke, Detective Ennis Molien approached through the blue grey haze escorting a small prim woman. —Lyle Findley