“Good lord” I said, gazing at the flakes of crust that covered Vince's shirt front. I was just kidding, Vince.” I know” he said. “But it sounded kind of classy, so ...” He shrugged, which caused a trickle of croissant flakes to fall off him and onto the floor. “They make “em with chocolate filling” he said.

“And ham and cheese, too.”

“I don't think they'll approve of that in Paris” I said.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Deborah snarled from behind me as she snatched up a ham and cheese croissant.

“Some of us like to sleep from time to time” I said.

“Some of us don't get to sleep” she said. “Because some of us have been trying to work, surrounded by camera crews from fucking Brazil and who knows where.” She took a savage bite of croissant and, with a full mouth, looked at the rest of it in her hand and said, “Jesus Christ, what is this thing?”

“It's a French doughnut” I said.

Debs threw the rest of it at a nearby trash can and missed by about four feet. “Tastes like shit” she said.

“Would you rather try some of my jelly roll?” Vince asked her.

Debs didn't even blink. “Sorry, I'd need at least a mouthful, which you ain't got” she said, and she grabbed my arm. “Come on.” My sister led me down the hall to her cubicle and flung herself into the chair at her desk. I sat in the folding chair and waited for whatever onslaught of emotion she might have prepared for me.

It came in the form of a stack of newspapers that she started to throw at me, saying, “LA Times; Chicago Sun-Times; New York fucking Times; Der Spiegel; Toronto Star.” Just before I vanished completely under a pile of papers, battered insensible, I reached across and grabbed her arm, stopping her from flinging the Karachi Observer at me. “Debs” I said. I can see them better if they're not wedged into my eye sockets.”

“This is a shit-storm” she said, “like no shit-storm you have ever seen before.”

Truthfully, I had not seen many actual shit-storms, although one time in middle school Randy Schwartz flushed a cherry bomb down a full toilet in the boys rest room, forcing Mr O'Brien to go home early to change clothes. But clearly Debs was in no mood for fond reminiscence, even though neither of us had liked Mr O'Brien.

“I gathered that” I said, “from the fact that Matthews is suddenly invisible.”

She snorted. “Like he never existed.” I never thought we'd see a case so hot the captain didn't want to be on TV” I said.

“Four fucking bodies in one fucking day” she spat out. “Like nothing anybody has ever seen, and it lands in my lap.”

“Rita says you looked very nice on television” I said encouragingly, but for some reason that caused her to swipe at the pile of newspapers and knock several more onto the floor.