The boy, Archie thought. He still had no idea how the boy had ended up in the river, how long he’d been in the water, or how he’d even managed to stay afloat. He was barely responsive when Archie had gotten to him. As soon as Archie had hooked his arms under the boy’s, the kid had gone limp. If he’d fought Archie at all they would probably both have drowned out there. Archie had saved that boy’s life, sure. But the boy had also saved Archie.

They couldn’t let him die.

Archie pushed the rubber blankets off, sat up, and swung his legs off the bed. He was cocooned in even more blankets, these white flannel, and it took him a minute to unwrap himself. Then he pushed himself off the bed and padded out of his room in his gown and hospital socks.

“What’s going on?” he said.

A nurse trotted toward him, arm outstretched. “You need to get back in your room, sir,” she said. There was a whooshing sound of hydraulic doors opening and both Archie and the nurse looked to their right as a gurney was rushed in.

Not the boy.

The boy was fine.

This was someone else.

Someone who was really hurt.

Even from twenty feet down the hall, Archie could see that they had an oxygen mask on him, and someone was squeezing a bag. An EMT was running beside the gurney doing chest compressions, headed Archie’s way.

The person on the gurney wasn’t breathing.

Archie didn’t move.

The EMTs had been met by two doctors and two nurses, who now joined in resuscitation efforts.

Archie saw the top of his head as the gurney raced closer. A big head. Shaved.

He reached behind, found the doorjamb he’d just stepped through, and steadied himself.

They rolled Henry right by him.

The medical staff working to save him spoke in clipped, urgent medical jargon, but Archie could make out words he knew. Respiratory arrest. Intubate.

Archie stumbled from the doorway after them.

They were moving fast—five feet away, then ten. Archie couldn’t make out what they were saying anymore.

“Sir,” he heard someone say. “Step back, please.”

“I need to see his hand,” Archie said. A nurse stepped in front of him, blocking him from continuing down the hall and reaching the corner room directly ahead where they’d parked Henry. Archie tried to get around her, but someone was gently pulling him away from behind.

“Please,” he said, trying not to sound like a madman, “I’m his partner. He’s a detective. He might have been poisoned. I need to see if there’s a brown spot on his hand.”

“There is,” said a voice behind him.

Archie turned to see Susan Ward. “It’s there,” she said. “On his left palm. I told them everything. They’re going to run tox screens.”