Vankler wore casual Vashon Island corduroy slacks and an open-throated olive Oxford. A tie hung smoothly over the shoulder of a blazer hanging from a peg on the wall behind him. His broad, generous face carried a number of scars that hadn’t quite washed out from reconstruction or faded over the years. The lower right canine, two fangs in front of it, and the four behind were all too perfect and white to be anything but prosthesis work. He wore his hair brushed back in a pompadour style. Eyebrows bulged over a shelf of bone above his hard, cold eyes.