“So Martineau was still around after the explosion,” Kilburn said.

Franklin shrugged.

“Maybe he’s still in the city,” Lopez suggested.

“Wouldn’t count on it,” Franklin said. “But he’s going to have a tough time moving about. His photo is everywhere.”

Lopez knew Franklin wasn’t exaggerating. Every newspaper or TV screen she had passed in the last twelve hours was broadcasting Martineau’s face to the world.

The phone’s harsh metallic ring startled Lopez. Franklin reached for it. He listened for a moment and then said, “Okay, we’re on our way.” He hung up and rose to his full, intimidating height. “Andrea Byington is here.”

They followed the lieutenant out of his office and down a gray corridor, stopping at two sets of doors. The first opened onto a small, darkly lit room where two rows of chairs faced a large two-way mirror that looked into the room next door. That room was empty except for a long wooden table with three chairs on either side. Two middle-aged men sitting in the first row turned away from the mirror to view the newcomers. They both waved their coffee cups in a toast of greeting.

“This is your stop, doctors.” Franklin pointed to the men. “Dr. Lopez and Dr. Kilburn, meet Detectives Granger and Cunningham.” He stared at the taller, of the two detectives, the one with the beak of a nose and mischievous smile. “Behave, Granger, okay?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Ed,” Granger said.

Lopez led Kilburn over to the front row of seats. She sat beside the squat, bearded Detective Cunningham, who shook her hand and showed her a friendly smile. No sooner had the introductions been made than the door to the room on the other side of the mirror opened.

Byington walked in, followed by Franklin and Cohen. Franklin led her to the chair facing the mirror. Then he sat down beside Cohen on the near side of the table, their backs to the viewing gallery.

Lopez recognized the same confident poise in Byington’s manner as the day before, but her makeup didn’t hide the bags under her eyes or the deeper lines at the edge of her lips.

Franklin leaned forward. “Ms. Byington … ,” the speaker crackled in the observation room.

She interrupted with a wave of her small hand. “It’s doctor, actually. But I prefer Andrea, please.”

“Thanks for coming in, Andrea,” Franklin said. “I believe you’ve met Sergeant Cohen.”

“Of course,” Byington smiled benignly. “Though, when we met yesterday, the sergeant didn’t have the war wounds.” She pointed to his wrapped arm and face with a sweep of her hand. “And at the time, he was said to be a physician.”

Cohen shrugged. “We thought it important to conceal the reason for my involvement.”

“I understand, Sergeant,” she said. Her tone sounded even more clipped to Lopez over the room’s tinny speaker. “Of course, that’s no longer an issue.”