Grace paused outside the maw of the Central Police Sta­tion. She’d passed this station five days a week going to and from work, but had never been inside. From the bus, Grace had admired its colonial architecture: the arched entrance, the imposing columns, and the white, sweeping stairway that gleamed in the early morning sun. Now, surveying the building from up close, she could see that this once-grand building had gone to seed. Termites had cracked the facade and left dirty brown trails across the walls, weeds poked out of cracks and crevices in the stairs, and a determined ivy had crept halfway up one of the columns. The decrepit building did nothing to dampen Grace’s excitement. She had spent four years studying law, and the last five months at the firm of DB & Associates proofing legal documents. Now, finally, she had been given a case. It was a pro-bono criminal case that no one else wanted but still… Grace suppressed a smile and stepped from the sunlight into the building’s gloomy entrance. A policeman sat in the foyer behind a mukwa wood desk, almost hidden behind manila folders in messy piles. “I’m here to see my client, Willbess…