The door behind him rattled, breaking his musings, and Sjoberg walked in. He was followed by a woman whose self-important air and yellow identification badge indicted her as being from National.

“Arne—” Sjoberg looked at him with unmasked surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d just like a minute of your time. I’ve come across something important.” Sanderson saw the woman hesitate at the door.

A befuddled Sjoberg addressed her, “Would you give us a minute?”

She backed outside with a gracious smile, leaving the door open.

“Arne, we’re very busy. I’d think you of all people would realize it.”

“I talked to a doctor today at Saint Göran.”

“Good, it’s about damn time.”

“No, no. Not Samuels. It was a physician from the emergency room. He told me that the victim brought into the ER Saturday—”

“What?” Sjoberg said, cutting him off in a coarse whisper. “You went to Saint Göran on a matter relating to this investigation?”

“Yes.”

“Have you forgotten my orders? Or are you simply ignoring them? You are not involved in this anymore!”

“But the man was Israeli, I’m sure of it. Don’t you see how this fits? This man we’re looking for is—”

“Enough! Arne, you are on medical leave. What must I do to make this clear? We are perfectly capable of handling things.”

“Are you? Then how could you miss something like this?”

Sjoberg’s voice rose, “I will not listen to the accusations of a dysfunctional detective who can’t even keep track of his—” His words faltered there, and the two glared at one another.

The office door was still open, and Sanderson sensed a hush outside. Phone calls paused, keyboards gone still.

In steady, drawn-out words, Sjoberg said, “Out of my office this minute or I’ll have your credentials.”

Without thinking, Sanderson reached into his pocket, pulled them out, and threw them at Sjoberg, striking him in the chest. He turned on a heel and walked out.

There were a dozen police officers in the outer room, men and women standing like statues between desks, planted motionless in chairs. They were detectives and sergeants and constables. One and all, they looked at Sanderson with something he had never seen before. They looked at him with pity.

*   *   *

Slaton was swept away. Joy, dread, hope, fear. All of it washed through his head in a single, tumultuous wave. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, and so he reached out and took Christine in his arms. He wanted her to clutch him back, but that didn’t happen. She pushed him away with tears welling in her eyes.

“So what the hell do we do now?” she said harshly. “You’re going to be a father, David. Is there a procedure for that?”