“Student of the Ten Gurus, warrior of light, protector of the right, the meek and the weak,” she said with her head still lowered, “your friend was fortunate to have you guide his passing.”

Musil stood there in silence for a long minute. His mouth opened and closed.

“This is a surprise,” he said at last.

Kali looked up at him.

“Life is full of them,” she said.

A few yards down the street, Morse was at the sidewalk cab stand listening to the cabbie Abdul Samad tell his story to a responding police officer for the third time.

There hadn’t been that much to it the first or second times, and the same was definitely true now. He had double-parked alongside the taxi belonging to his cousin Haram and then gone into the Share Punjabi to have lunch with several other taxi drivers—a group that included Haram, who was still out here with him, corroborating his every word. His daily routine was to drop off his jacket at the table to claim a chair, say dhuhr, the midday ritual prayer, in the niche at the rear of the place, then sit and eat for roughly the next forty minutes.

“When Haram got up to pay, I went with him, and we left together,” he told the cop.

“Because your van was blocking him into the spot.”

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“I saw my taxi moving away.”

“In the bus lane.”

“Yes, Officer. There was a man inside. I saw him and ran after it.”

“But you say you didn’t get a good look at him.”

“No. He drove away very fast.”

Morse had been silent up to that point, not wanting to ruffle the interviewer. But she chose that moment to jump in.

“Sir, could you tell me again what you did see of him?” she asked. “Think carefully.”

Abdul turned to her. “He wore a cap. Like a baseball cap.”

“And can you describe him at all?”

“He was white. A thin face. I remember he sat like this.” The cabbie stiffened his shoulders exaggeratedly. “So straight, you know? Like wood.”

Morse nodded, wishing Leo would show up. Fifteen years of marriage to him, she’d picked up some of his interviewing skills by osmosis. But it felt like a poor approximation. She had never come close to him, even before her career path with the Company led her from investigations to a supervisory position.

She was trying to think of anything else worth going over with Abdul when the cell phone trilled in her belt holster.

She took it out, checked its display and answered.

“Alex,” she said, “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

“I know. I listened to your messages,” he said. “I was at Langley.”

She nodded her understanding. “No devices.”