Gary slid the needle into Archie’s vein. Archie watched as his blood filled the hypodermic’s barrel. Opiates would show up on any basic tox screen, and Archie knew he’d started last night with plenty of pills. “I took some Vicodin last night,” Archie told Gary. Then there were the two he’d chewed when he’d come to on the riverbank. “And this morning,” Archie added

“Okay,” Gary said.

“I just thought I should mention it,” Archie said.

Gary withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball in the crook of Archie’s elbow and bent the arm closed around it. “You better spend some time thinking about what you’re going to tell them when they ask about it,” he said. He gave Archie a meaningful look and then glanced toward the closed door. “We’re done,” he called.

*   *   *

Archie was still buttoning his shirt when he walked into the living room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Raul Sanchez sat on Archie’s sofa with Bob Eaton, the chief of police. Martin Ngyun had Susan’s laptop on his knees on a stool at the kitchen bar, and Claire was standing close to Henry by the window. Susan had the refrigerator door open. She was the only one who didn’t look up. She was pulling bread and peanut butter out of the fridge, clearly intent on making a sandwich.

Archie forced himself to look around the room, to meet all of their eyes, until, one by one, the heads turned back to what they had been doing.

There had been more, at first. Archie had counted seventeen cops in his small apartment when Gary had escorted him into the bedroom. Then Henry had explained the sensitive nature of the video, and all nonessential personnel had been asked to leave. Archie imagined them all home posting status updates on Facebook, publicly wondering what new humiliation Archie Sheridan had suffered now.

“How are you doing?” Eaton asked from the couch. Archie couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the chief out of uniform, but tonight he was in street clothes—a blue Columbia Sportswear jacket, jeans that looked ironed, and a button-down shirt that was open at the collar. One of his hiking boots had come unlaced.

“I’ve just had my penis swabbed, Bob, how are you doing?” Archie said.

Eaton coughed uncomfortably. His hair was entirely white, but the light reflecting off his jacket tinted it with blue. “This is…” Eaton flailed helplessly. “This is…” He looked around the room, but nobody came to his aid. What was there to say? Archie could think of a few things: This is … humiliating, demeaning, degrading, denigrating, mortifying. But Eaton wasn’t really a word man. He squinted at Archie and Archie almost felt sorry for him. “Do you need to talk to someone about this?” Eaton asked.