“Let me guess,” she says. “Wolfram and Hart.”
The suited man smiles at her across the desk.
”Time’s up,” he says pleasantly, his Southern drawl at odds with his wealthy appearance. “My client needs to be released or charged.”
”You know full well that if he’s released he’ll kill again.” There’s a flicker of something in the man’s eyes, but he says nothing. “How do you sleep at night?”
He shrugs. “I’m doing my job, same as you. The rest is none of my business.”
She looks at him in disgust and goes to get the keys to the cell.