As if groping for some organizing structure into which he could fit the chaotic events, he raised the subject of karma. “It wasn’t just Carl whose evil actions came flying back at him. I mean, think about it. The same thing happened to Panikos when he was crushed by the Ferris wheel that he blew up. And look what happened to Mick Klemper when he came after Dad. Even Lex Bincher—he kind of went wild with that big ego trip on RAM-TV, claiming credit for the whole investigation, and it got him killed. Man, like, this karma thing is real.”

Kyle sounded so earnest, so excited by this idea, so young—sounding and looking so much like he did in his enthusiastic moments as a teenager—that Gurney felt an urge to hug him. But to act on so spontaneous an impulse, especially in public, wasn’t in his nature.

A short while later two aides came to take Hardwick back to Radiology for some additional scans. As they settled him on the rolling stretcher, he turned to Gurney. “Thanks, Davey. I’m … I’m thinking you might have saved my life … getting me here so quickly.” A rare thing for Hardwick, he said it without any ironic twist.

“Well …” Gurney muttered awkwardly, never comfortable with being thanked, “you’ve got a fast car.”

Hardwick uttered a small laugh—which ended in a stifled yelp at the pain it produced—and they wheeled him out.

Madeleine, Kyle, and Gurney were left in the room, standing around the vacated bed. All perhaps finally on the verge of collapse, all with nothing to say.

The silence was broken by the ringing of a phone, which turned out to be Kyle’s. He glanced at the ID screen. “Jeez,” he said to no one in particular, then looked at his father. “It’s Kim. I told her I’d call her, but with everything …” After a moment of indecision, he added, “I should talk to her.” He stepped out into the corridor and, speaking softly, moved out of sight and hearing.

Madeleine was gazing at Gurney with an expression that was at once full of great relief and great weariness—the same qualities that were in her voice. “You came through it all right,” she said. Then added, “That’s the main thing.”

“Yes.”

“And you figured it all out. Once again.”

“Yes. At least, I think so.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about it.” On her face was a gentle, indecipherable smile.

A silence fell between them.

In addition to a deep wave of emotional and physical exhaustion, Gurney began to feel a widespread soreness and stiffness setting in—which, after some puzzlement, he attributed to being tackled by the two cops during his efforts to knock the pink cell phone out of Panikos’s hands.

He was suddenly too tired to think, too tired to stand.