'Light of my life, fire of my loins. Be a good baby, do what I want. Light of my life, fire of my loins...'

The sheriff's office is quiet, the only sounds being the buzzing of the cheap, energy-saving fluorescents above your head, and the faint shuffling of papers on desks.

Lee stands on the other side of his desk, staring down at a small stack of files. A scowl is fixed on his face - a usual expression for him - as he runs a hand through his dark hair.

As he looks up, he sees you standing in the doorway, "What're you doing here?"