Gil sat in the middle of a line of molded plastic chairs, bolted to the floor in the crowded waiting room, with his head in his hands. Jarlayne sat beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder. People streamed back and forth, all talking at once and calling for the attention of the ER nurses. The sound of magazine pages turning, babies crying and the squawk of the speakers paging hospital staff seemed to grow to an almost unbearable cacophony.

Paramedics wheeled their cargos into vacant spaces about the huge waiting area then huddled together joking among themselves in muted voices. His mind was riven with despair over Deborah and a cloak of guilt wrapped itself around him for not having included the police in their findings. Gil straightened up and looked at his watch, twisting it around on his wrist. "How long has it been?"

"About two hours," Jarlayne offered, removing her hand and shifting on the plastic seat.

"Christ, how long does it take to find out any information here." The remark was rhetorical and he didn't wait for any response, instead he stood and marched over to the nurse's station and leaned close to the nearest one available, waving a hand and muttering something Jarlayne couldn't hear. When he came back he said she told him they should go up to the OR floor and speak to the nurses at that station.

"Calm down, Gil, let's wait until we know something." She took his arm and led him down the hall to the elevators.

"I bloody know she was raped and beaten in our own office right after we left." His face showed a bleakness that framed the guilt he imposed on himself.

The waiting room on the OR floor was only better by the fact that it was quiet. Friends and family huddled in small groups muttering consolations to those grieving. Gil repeated his performance at the nurse's station and received the same stall—the doctor would be out shortly.

"I feel so much better," he spat sarcastically. They chose a section near the hall and sat awkwardly together in the sadly familiar, narrow plastic seats. One doctor appeared but his attention was on a family of four across the room who stood like disobedient school children while he gave them his news. Jarlayne pointed to a young man in a leather jacket coming toward them. "Police, Gil." She sat back and assessed the appearance of the detective, catching his eye and holding the contact for an extended beat.

"Mister Petchorik, Detective Mike Aznasous." The two shook hands perfunctorily and the detective sat down next to Gil. "Heard anything yet?" He looked at Jarlayne as he asked the question. "Are you together?" He asked.

"Huh? Oh yeah, sorry. Jarlayne Brighton, Detective..."

"Aznasous. Mike Aznasous." He held out a warm hand and lightly squeezed her proffered fingers.

"I'm told the doctor will be out shortly." Gil said bitterly, missing the byplay. He glanced at his watch.

"Yeah well, hospitals, eh? Mister Petchorik, could you just go over the sequence of events with me? From when you all quit work."

Gil sighed and flopped back on the uncomfortable seat. "It was around seven-thirty," Jarlayne nodded agreement, "we packed it in. Jarlayne left and went to her car. Deb and I came downstairs; I locked the door and offered her a lift. She said she wanted to go to a grocery store up the street before she went home. We said goodnight. I passed her and we waved and then- that- the next thing I hear is- is this..."

"Okay, good. You saw nothing suspicious outside your building?" Gil just gave the policeman a barely patient look. "Okay, I know. Dumb cop. There are questions that have to be answered for the record, so don't get annoyed. I have to say, from what I was told happened to Miss Weiss, I am amazed she was able to dial nine-one-one." He closed his notebook and sighed. "Listen, I can do this another time. I just wanted to meet you and ask about Miss Weiss. The facts you just gave me won't change between now and tomorrow. You guys just hang in there and see to your friend. I'll be in touch. I'll need to speak to you about that delivery too," he added, looking at Jarlayne as he left. Jarlayne thanked him verbally, with an extended blink of long lashes before turning back to Gil.

"I think we've reached a point where we have to do business with them." She watched him make a face just as the doctor arrived.

"Deborah suffered severe damage to her face and upper body; plastic surgery might be necessary to reconstruct the left cheek. She had some internal bleeding from a broken rib, which the surgeon repaired and she was in need of some stitching from the brutality of the rape. We are doing blood tests for HIV and she will have to be informed of her rights in that matter. She must have fought very hard, her nails were broken and there was some skin under the nails that remained.

The police have taken their samples and I presume will try to match DNA or whatever. Right now she is unconscious and on meds to keep her vitals steady. It will be at least twenty-four hours before a more definite prognosis for recovery can be made but right now she seems to be holding well and unless it gets worse, she can only get better."

Gil and Jarlayne listened to the perfunctory delivery of the doctor's information without interruption, unable to speak even after he bade them goodnight and returned to his duties. They left and went back down through the ER.

"I definitely think we have to do business with the police, Gil."

"We'll wait the twenty-four hours and see if we can talk to Deb. Meanwhile, you get onto that phone number like red on raspberry." His eyes burned into the back of the retreating doctor.

"She might not even be conscious in that time, I don't recommend waiting."

"Jarlayne, I'm paying you so do what I ask, okay? I'll be here or outside on my cell." They faced one another in silence, the hubbub of the ER roiling about them unnoticed. Finally, she looked away and nodded, patting his arm and striding off toward the exit. He knew she was right but a stubborn thread of hope stayed attached; if he could just get the proof of a connection...

•••

Myles listened with concern as Tillman reported on the material he'd retrieved from the lawyer's office. A grey squirrel did a stop motion jig along the windowsill of his library, pausing to give him a belligerent look. He followed the squirrel's progress until it hopped down out of sight. Invisible. Wouldn't that be wonderful? His slipper fell off and he swung his legs down from the desk and bent to retrieve it, grunting from the exertion.

"What?"

"Nothing, I was just... never mind. Are you sure you got everything?"

"Everything she had. It took a little—"

"I don't want details! Just pack all that stuff up and put it in a rental mailbox. I'll tell you where to send the key later."

"You don't want me to get rid of it?"

"I think for the time being it might be prudent to have, shall we say, a Plan B."

"And my money?"

"It will be wired to your account in the usual manner, Howard. Let's just wait a few days until we see how things play out. I'm sure you won't be going to any food banks before then, eh?"

"A few days. I'll get a box today."