Chapter 25: Dead Reckoning

The office smelled like it always did after a long case: cold coffee and paper and the particular staleness of recycled air that has been breathed too thoroughly for too many hours. I had not opened the window in three days. I opened it now.

The city came in immediately — not intrusively, but the way it always does, that layered ambient noise that is not quiet and not loud and serves as its own kind of white sound when you have spent enough years living inside it. A cab somewhere. A delivery vehicle idling. Someone's telephone on a balcony four floors down, ringing twice and stopping. I stood at the window for a moment with my hand on the latch and let it wash over me, and then I went to the desk.

The two sealed folders were gone. Carol had taken them when she signed and I had not watched where she put them because there was no need to watch. The pen was still there, lying at a slight diagonal where she had replaced it rather than leaving it flat. I picked it up, capped it, and put it in the drawer with the others.