The elevator doors opened and they walked out into the hotel lobby. “She’s a lawyer,” Corvallis pointed out.

“She can see where it’s going—the protocol. The ice bath, the freezing of the remains. No way does she want that happening on hospital property.”

“I see.”

They stepped out into the hotel’s front drive and paused under the awning, which was giving off faint white noise as small drops of rain filtered down onto it from the silver sky. “You’re going to get Dodge’s effects now?”

“Effects? Yeah.” Corvallis wondered at what point the clothes, wallet, and so forth became effects.

“I would be shocked if they tried to pull a fast one,” Stan said, “but say nothing, okay? Other than hello and goodbye.”

“A fast one?”

“They are going to be worried about a malpractice suit. If they start pumping you for information—anything other than just handing over the bag—just walk away. Then call me.”

Corvallis shook hands with Stan and Marcus and then stepped out into the rain and began navigating the streets of First Hill on foot, headed for the medical practice where Dodge had been stricken. It was a short walk but a much-needed head clearer.

Or at least it was until his phone rang again. He was just outside the building, looking down a street lined with spectacular red maple trees. The very spot where Dodge had yesterday been buttonholed by the young fan with the broken arm, and unwittingly filmed his last video.

It was El Shepherd again. Corvallis decided to take the call.

“Corvallis Kawasaki. Is it true that you go by C-plus? Or is that just close friends? I don’t want to be unduly familiar at a time like this. I’m sorry for what you’re going through.”

“At an intermediate level of formality, I am frequently addressed simply as C. I would not take that amiss. And what shall I call you, Mr. Shepherd?”

Elmo Shepherd had been named in honor of a grandfather or great-uncle or something who had been born in a time and place where Elmos, Elwoods, Delberts, and Dewaynes had been thick on the ground, and such names had seemed normal and even dignified. Upon shedding Mormonism and moving to the Bay Area to seek his fortune, he had learned that the name was likely to be seen as somewhat comedic and so had dropped its back syllable. Under the moniker of El he had risen to a level of wealth and influence such that, without provoking snorts of laughter, he could begin using the full name again on formal occasions such as White House dinners and ribbon-cuttings of state-of-the-art research facilities. Corvallis was aware that it was something of a shibboleth. Usage of “El,” in the right tone of voice, could suggest personal acquaintance.