He wore clean khakis, a white dress shirt, and blue blazer. But this afternoon, for the first time since his job interview six years ago, he had a bright pink visitor’s badge clipped to his lapel. The chief’s door opened, and Hewitt poked his head out. He was a small man, with trimmed salt-and-pepper hair and a narrow mustache so perfect in its shape and color that some of the officers joked that it was fake. “Andrew, good of you to be on time,” Hewitt said. “Come on in.” It was the largest office in the building, designed to make a tasteful but unquestioned statement about the importance of the man who occupied it. On one side of the room was a long glass conference table set with twelve high-back chairs of blue leather. The right side belonged to Chief Hewitt. The glass and chrome was standard in this place, but Hewitt had things that were uniquely his and, Swann realized, unique to this place, such as a framed photo of Hewitt and Prince Charles and a coat-rack with an array of “emergency” clothing: fresh shirt and jacket, a ceremonial dress uniform, and a tuxedo.
