Somers didn’t doubt her opinion, but his annoyance at her tone had made the case a frequent topic of conversation with Hazard over dinner. He made a note to arrange an interview. As he moved on to the next email, though, Chief Cravens opened the door to her office and called his name. When Somers looked up, she beckoned.

Dulac silently held out his fist, and Somers bumped knuckles with him as he made his way out of the bullpen. He let himself into the office and found Cravens behind her desk; an older man with a crew cut and police blues stood to one side. On the desk, a cardboard box was folded shut, and the pictures of Cravens’s nieces and nephews were gone.

“Go ahead, John-Henry,” Cravens said, gesturing to a chair. “This isn’t exactly an official conversation.”

Somers took in the cardboard box again; when his eyes moved to Cravens’s face, he saw the exhaustion there, the deep lines that had formed over the last year, the dark smudges under her eyes.

“Should I say congratulations or I’m sorry?” he asked quietly.

“Ask me in six months,” Cravens said.

Somers thought about his father, who had recently won the mayoral election, and about the chief of police, who served at the mayor’s discretion. “If my father—”

“No,” Cravens said, and she smiled and waved a hand. “I’m past all that.”

Outside, the fax machine screeched on and on, the note rising higher and higher until it cut off with a short series of sputters. It reminded Somers of a 1980s TV robot screaming, Malfunction, malfunction. The noise seemed to serve as some sort of signal, because the uniformed officers began to drift toward the exits, heading out for another day’s work. In a matter of minutes, the station had emptied to its usual daytime levels.

“This is Chief Riggle,” Cravens said. “And since I feel quite a bit freer than I have in a long time, I’m going to add that I didn’t request this meeting. He did.” She looked from Riggle to Somers, and then she nodded and picked up the box. “All right, then. Best of luck, John-Henry.”

“Chief—” Somers rose, holding out a hand. “Everybody’s going to want to say goodbye. Leaving like this, not even introducing—”

“I did introduce him, John-Henry. To you. Only a moment ago, in fact.” Cravens took a breath. “A lot of things aren’t in my control anymore; this is. I’m leaving this way because I want to. It’s easier, I guess.”

And then she left, and she was out the door before Somers could think of anything to say.

Riggle moved with a rigidity that made Somers think of kids playing with toy soldiers. He sat in the seat, back straight, chest out, and studied Somers. Somers studied him right back. Thin, with the skin of his face so tight he almost looked ill, Riggle might have passed on first glance for the kind of guy you’d choose to be chief. He had the iron-gray hair, the hard eyes, the air of authority. But a spot of stubble under his chin, the same color as his hair, pulled at Somers’s eyes; electric razor, Somers thought. A quick shave, but not a good one.