I took the right from McAllister onto Polk and pulled my cruiser up in front of the City Hall steps. Like the City had said, there was a person in a trenchcoat there. And the City hadn't said, in so many words, that she was kind of dazed and confused. But I could figure that part out. It goes with the territory, being newly awake. I pulled up at the white curb just past the crosswalk, killed the engine, and got out. She came into better view as I got closer: Latina, way darker than me. Black or dark-brown hair, barely down past her jawline. A couple of inches shorter than me. Artsy-looking, classy-but-casual clothing under the coat. And her eyes were practically on fire. I don't know if a normal would have seen it, but to my shamanic sight, they practically glowed. Still riding high on the electric wave of having just had her epiphany. "Hello," I said when I got about eight feet from her. "I'm Inspector Martinez." No need to say "of the SFPD" when I had my uniform on and had just gotten out of a cruiser. "Vanessa Martinez. San Francisco sent me to find you. Told me you'd be here. I'll be your mentor."
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