“When we started dispatcher training. About eight years ago.”

“So you two were some of the first dispatchers.”

“We were the second class here in Chicago, yeah.”

“Are you close?”

“We’re friendly,” I said. I picked up my coffee again and blew on it. Langdon had her own cup, but she wasn’t touching it.

“Define ‘friendly.’”

“Meaning I’ve been to his house and he’s been to mine. I know his wife. He knows mine, or did until I got a divorce. We’ve been bowling. That sort of thing.”

“Friendly but not too close.”

“That’s right.” I drank from my cup.

“So why did he call you to sub in for him at the hospital?”

“That didn’t have anything to do with me in particular. I was on call.”

“Explain that.”

“Well, you know what being ‘on call’ is.”

“I get the general concept. Explain what it means for you in particular.”

A bus rolled by, making a bunch of noise as it squealed to a stop in front of us; I waited until it rolled away. “Dispatchers work the hospitals,” I said. “Insurance companies work with the Agency to make sure we’re in the room for high-risk operations like the one today, and otherwise we’re often stationed in the building in case we’re needed in the ER or somewhere else.”

“Okay.”

“So, usually the same dispatcher works the same hospital for a while. It’s easier that way and everyone gets into a schedule. Jimmy’s been working Northwestern for about three months now. But like everyone, once in a while he’s got something else on his schedule and he can’t make an appointment. So it goes to whichever dispatcher’s on call. Today that’s me. Jimmy called me to confirm and make sure I had the files.”

“You don’t have your own hospital to work?”

“I used to do the University of Chicago hospitals, but right now I’m between regular stints. So I’m on call instead. It’s like being a substitute teacher.”

“Well, except that you kill people.”

“They come back,” I said. “Mostly.” I took another sip of my coffee.

Langdon looked at me. “So what’s that like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Killing people.”

I shrugged. “You’re a cop. You ever shoot anyone?”

“No,” Langdon said. “I’ve never had to draw my gun.”

“But you might have to.”

“Sure.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“It’s less of a problem now than it might have been ten years ago.”

“Because they come back now.”

“Right. Mostly.”

“Same thing.”

“I might have to pull my gun one day. You kill people every day you do your job. There’s a difference.”

I smiled and set my cup back down. “This is beginning to sound a lot like one of my dates.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”