With his lungs heaving, Sanderson’s attention went to the walking paths that led into the Botanical Gardens. He sprinted to the nearest and soon found himself winding through an emerald garden of sculpted topiary and trimmed lawns, moving as fast as his old legs would carry him. He reached an intersection where one path split into three, and there Sanderson stopped. He spun another hopeless circle looking in every direction, but saw only miles of blacktop possibility. The three paths each branched to others, all curving behind hedges and looping around trees. Back across the street he saw other sidewalks, some leading to the lakefront, others encircling the massive World Trade Organization building. People were milling in every direction, shunting between workplaces, running errands, and strolling the gardens.

Edmund Deadmarsh was nowhere to be seen.

Sanderson bent down and put his hands on his knees, completely out of breath after his furious burst of effort. “Dammit!”

*   *   *

Paul Sjoberg was nearly frantic, but he’d done all he could. When the unexpected message had come this morning he’d tried to get through to Sanderson, but had no luck. He next summoned Gunnar Blix to his office—as far as he knew, Sanderson’s closest friend on the force—and explained the situation.

A stunned Blix tried to help but said he didn’t know where Sanderson had gone, leaving an exasperated Sjoberg to claim, “It’s bad enough I can’t find a killer, but now I can’t even find my own damned detectives!”

His last idea was to call Sanderson’s ex-wife, Ingrid. She didn’t pick up, so Sjoberg left an urgent message to return his call without going into details.

Out of ideas, he sat at his desk and stared at the email:

A/C Sjoberg,

While patient confidentiality is normally paramount, I have no choice but to breach it in this instance for the well-being of the patient in concern. By his recent MRI, Inspector Arne Sanderson has been diagnosed with a low-grade brain stem glioma. While there is a favorable chance that this tumor is benign, without prompt treatment other life-threatening complications are imminent. It is imperative that we find Inspector Sanderson and present him for an immediate consultation with an oncologist.

E. Samuels, M.D.

NPB Health Services

Chapter 40

FORTY

The waitress slid a beer in front of him, and Sanderson took his first sip flummoxed that he wasn’t able to convert the prices on the menu from Swiss francs to kronor. He knew the rough conversion rate, but the math simply escaped him. He pushed the menu aside and wrote it off to fatigue.