Page 72 of His Wall

"Are you compromised in any other way?"

I looked down at Julian.

His hazel eyes were on mine, and the woman he had woken up next to forty minutes ago was crouched over him on a garage floor talking on a phone in a voice he had never heard her use.

"No, ma'am."

"Talk soon, Calder."

She hung up.

I attached the photographs to the secure channel and hit send. The progress bar moved. I dialed the New York field office.

"Field, Sloan."

"Calder. I need a forensic team at West Eleventh, residential parking garage, Level B-1. Suppressed round, single shot, partial impact at the third pillar from the south stairwell. I need a trace on a number that just texted my principal's device — I'll forward the metadata in two minutes. I need uniformed presence at the lobby and I need the building manager held for interview."

"Copy. ETA twelve minutes."

"Make it eight."

"See you in ten."

I hung up.

"Claire."

His hand was on my forearm.

"Claire, look at me."

My voice was different again, the one I had used with Torres.

"Inside. Now."

"What just happened? Who was that on the phone? Claire, you moved like — who are you?"

"Inside, Julian. We can talk inside."

I put my hand under his elbow. He did not stand. He did not let me lift him.

"Who are you, Claire?"

"Get up."

He got up.

He let me put my hand at the small of his back. I walked him along the row of parked cars, keeping them between us and the upper ramp until we reached the stairwell door. I pushed him into the stairwell ahead of me. I pulled the door closed. We rode the elevator up to twelve in silence.

The door hadn't changed. Forty-five minutes, and it was exactly as we'd left it. I unlocked it. I pushed him behind me. I stepped in first.

I went room by room.

Living room. The vinyl was still on the turntable from this morning. Bill Evans, side B, the runout groove clicking against the inside of the label. The kitchen counter with the two espresso cups. The sketches on the corner of the desk where I had set them down last night. I crossed to the windows along the far wall and pulled the heavy curtains closed one panel at a time. The room went half-dim.

Bedroom. The bed I had been in hours ago. The sheets were still tangled. The pillow still dented where his head had been. His shirt was on the floor where I had let it fall before I had pulled on jeans. I crossed to the window and pulled the curtain closed.

Bathroom. Closet. Cleared.