He wondered if anyone would remember him. He'd been here once a week for the past two months, blending in like a lawyer who had business to do. Around the public safety building and the courthouse, a suit and an air of confidence were as good as being invisible. Sales had used the time to reconnoiter the layout of the building and the tunnel that connected it to the courthouse and also to check the scheduled court appearances. They were posted one week in advance in the main hallway of the courthouse.

Passing through the front doors of either building required a trip through a metal detector. But if you knew where you were going, the ease of circumventing the security was laughable.

By the time he'd stamped out his second Winston, the turnover of smokers left him with a new set of faces. Without speaking, Sales entered the building through the door that had been jammed open by his fellow smokers. After a quick check to make sure the stairwell was deserted, he descended the stairs into the basement. A couple of turns and a couple of doors later, he was in the tunnel that was used to move prisoners from the lockup to the courthouse. Halfway down the hall was another stairwell whose door had a small window. With a glance either way to ensure the tunnel was empty, Sales took a handkerchief out of his pocket. He quickly covered the door handle to prevent leaving fingerprints and let himself in.

Quietly, he shut the door and listened to the sound of his own heavy breathing. After pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, he used his handkerchief to wipe the briefcase clean and place it on the floor. With the hint of a tremble in his hands, he took out another cigarette. There were burn marks on the floor, a sign of other desperate smokers that told Sales he could light up with impunity. The stink of latex filled his nose as he smoked. He checked his watch. Court appearances were at three. It was two-forty. They'd be coming any minute.