Sanderson did a load of laundry, and for an hour he clattered around the house looking for chores, finding a few, and ignoring them without exception. He ended where he’d begun, seated at the kitchen table and rubbing fingers on his temples, soothing circles that worked wonders. With a newfound clarity he succumbed to the inescapable.

There was really no question. He had to go in to headquarters. All he needed was a sound excuse, and he settled on the most obvious. It was time to clean out his desk.

*   *   *

He arrived at the station at ten forty-five. Sanderson’s gait was well known around the place—quick and direct, or as he’d once overheard, “like a short train on a narrow-gauge track”—and he passed through the entrance unchallenged, nodding to the familiar face at the security podium.

On the third floor he circumnavigated Sjoberg’s office, and in the hallways a few of his coworkers said “Good morning,” although some with more sympathy than they should have. The rumors had to be rampant by now, he supposed. Have you heard why the old man was pulled? He’s gone daft. Can’t keep track of his car keys, poor bugger. Worse still were those who seemed not to notice him, men and women half-sitting on desks as they volleyed theories back and forth, much as he’d done back in the day—a fond and familiar diversion he would never take part in again. Sanderson was ruminating on that cheerless thought when the man he was looking for came up from behind him in the main hallway.

“Hello, Inspector,” Blix said.

Sanderson turned. If anyone on the force was going to help, it was his well-versed deputy Gunnar Blix.

“Good morning, Gunnar. Do you have a minute?”

“Of course.”

Sanderson shunted Blix toward an empty conference room and closed the door. “I suppose you heard about my blow-up with Sjoberg yesterday?”

Blix grinned. “I only wish I’d been there to see it.”

“I’m clearly persona non grata around here for the time being. They’ve told me to go home and not be seen. Honestly, I’m rather warming to the idea.”

“You? Sit around the house? Please.”

“A doctor has told me, however, that mental exercise is just the thing for my deteriorating condition.”

“You’re going to work the case on your own.”

“I might make an inquiry or two … in the name of my recovering mental health, you understand.”

“And it would help if you had someone inside the department with a sharp ear?”

Sanderson regarded his protégé. “I knew I saw something in you.”

“Consider it done, Inspector. Least I can do. Call me anytime on my mobile—but we will have to be discreet.”

“Done. Anything new today?”