His eyes were without expression. They roved over the convolutions of beauty as if they had been inspecting a prize farm animal. They penetrated, yes, and Avalon could feel her clothes falling off her; but there was no lust, no desire, in the sergeant's eyes — only boredom.
"Yeh?" he said.
"I want to see a prisoner you have here," she said. "His name is Templar." She spelled it.
The sergeant's eyes said "Dames!" as he reached for a heavily bound ledger. He scanned it.
"When did he get here?"
"An hour ago, or less."
"Nobody's been here in the last hour."
"Where would he be, then?"
"What's the rap?"
"Oh, he hasn't even been tried. No charge has been made."