A few minutes later we had all left the operating room and I had found my way to the floor’s staff lounge. While I was not hospital staff, I felt that after a successful dispatch I deserved a cup of coffee. And I needed a place to do up my paperwork.

As I poured my coffee, Sheila Reeves, the hospital administrator, entered the room with another woman.

I smiled at Reeves. “You’ll be happy to know that your patient survived his procedure, although not in the way that either he or Dr. Chao was hoping.”

Reeves didn’t smile back. Instead she pointed to me and looked at the other woman. “That’s him,” she said, glanced over at me, and left.

“Tony Valdez?” the other woman asked, coming up to me.

“That’s right.”

“I’m Detective Nona Langdon. Chicago Police.” She flashed her badge, not that I would know it from a fake one you could get in a costume shop.

I looked back over to where Reeves had just been, and then back over at Langdon. “Is this about the dispatch I just performed?”

“A little.”

“Look, I get that Dr. Chao got her surgical gown in a twist about it, but everything went exactly to spec. You can ask any of the rest of the team. Start with Soto, the scrub nurse.”

“Mr. Valdez, it’s not about that.”

“You said it was about the dispatch.”

“It’s about James Albert, the dispatcher you substituted for.”

I blinked. “Okay. What about Jimmy?”

“He’s gone missing, Mr. Valdez.”

“What?”

“His wife came home and their house was broken into. There are signs of a struggle and there was blood on the carpet. We’ve tentatively identified it as his.”

“Jesus.”

“Did you speak to Mr. Albert today?”

“Of course. He called me to sub in for him.”

“We think you were the last person to talk to him before he disappeared.”

“Jesus,” I said again, and took a sip of my coffee. And then grimaced.

Langdon noticed the grimace. “How’s the coffee?”

“It’s terrible.”

“I know a place where we can talk. The coffee there will be better, I promise. Come on. First cup’s on me.”

Chapter Two

“How long have you known James Albert?”

I set my coffee down and looked over at Detective Langdon. She had steered us to a cafe on North St. Clair, a block south from the hospital. We were sitting in the al fresco part, meaning the cafe had carved out some of the sidewalk for its own use.

“Jimmy,” I said. “He hates being called James.”

“So you know him well enough to know that about him.”

“Anyone who knew him more than five minutes would know that about him. It was pretty much the first thing he ever said to me.”

“And when was it that he said that to you for the first time?”