* * *
The placard above the glass double doors:
OFFICE OF THE SHERIFF OF WAYWARD PINES
Moving toward the front entrance down a walkway lined with baby pines, he felt a new impulse of frustration course through him.
Through the glass, he could see that the lobby was dark and empty.
Still, he grabbed the doors and gave them a rough tug.
Locked.
It was after hours, sure, but Goddammit.
Ethan backed away from the entrance, glanced down the length of the single-story building. On the far end, it looked like a bit of light was slipping through the blinds behind a window.
He moved forward again, rapped his knuckles against one of the glass doors.
Nothing.
He banged with even more force, pounding the glass so hard the doors rattled in their frames.
Five minutes passed, but no one ever came.