““They got settled, Taylor and Fitz on the couch, Kimball leaning against the desk. Taylor took the chance to size the man up. Kimball’s hair was gray, cut in a military-style bristle top. His face had a permanently mournful expression, his eyes hangdog. His clothes were old-fashioned, from a previous generation. He wasn’t old, but he was certainly not doing anything to make himself seem any younger than his sixty-four years. He was soft-spoken, and Taylor imagined he’d been a shy man once, with jug ears and a slow, sad smile. Retirement had eased some of the pressures on his mind, but the years were etched on his face. He’d seen too much, witnessed too many vicious crimes, to have a smooth, carefree aspect. He stooped slightly, and Taylor wondered if it was the weight of all he had seen in his years on the force. Fitz””
