Transport: Pt. 1 transferred to gurney and then ambulance. Pt. 1 transported to hospital without incident. Pt. 2 body removed to county morgue for autopsy. Pt. 3 released into custody of SFPD for transport to friend’s home.

The medical examiner’s report confirmed Bill Ryan’s cause of death as carbon monoxide poisoning. A report from the gas company attributed the leak to a faulty hose connecting the gas line to the oven and suggested the line had been slowly leaking for some time. I slipped the reports into the envelope in which Ruth Fleming had sent them with a scrawled note: These just arrived. No surprises. Find the roommate and wrap it up.

“Hey, Henry, what are you working on?”

Adam stood tentatively at the edge of the table. His smile was subdued and ended at his eyes, which were watchful and worried.

“I’m investigating an insurance claim,” I said, “and I’m a little out of my depth.”

“What do you mean?”

He had been holding himself stiffly, evidently uncertain of his welcome, but now he relaxed a bit though I could still see anxiety in his eyes.

“Can you sit for a minute?”

He slid into the booth. “You haven’t been here since—” He hesitated. “Since I said that dumb thing to you. I thought maybe you weren’t coming back.” He looked at me with unconcealed distress. “I felt awful.”

“I’m sorry you felt bad. I felt bad too.” I took a breath. “I’d like to be friends again, but I have to know if you have a problem with gay guys.”

He dropped his voice. “I don’t, I swear, but I can’t talk about this here.”

“What?” I said, startled. This was not the response I had anticipated.

“I don’t have a problem with gay guys,” he repeated in the same low voice. “But it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“That’s what I can’t talk about. Not at work and not with them around.”

“Your grandparents?”

He nodded. He reached into his shirt pocket and extracted my card. I remember I’d given it to him half-jokingly, telling him I hoped he’d never have to use it.

“If you hadn’t come in today, I was planning on showing up at your office. I need to talk to you.”

“I have to drive out to the East Bay but I should be back in my office by four,”

“I work ’til eight,” he replied. “Would you be okay coming to my place tonight? To talk?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I have a meeting at seven but I could come after that.”

He borrowed a pen, wrote his phone number and address on the back of my card and slipped it across the table. “I have to get back to work. See you tonight, okay?”

“Yeah. See you tonight.”