“Pathology.” Silva sat the dummy against the wall, readied her tablet with a brush of a middle finger. “We can use you since you’re here. Instead of him.” She nodded to the dummy.

Mendenhall rose out of her crouch, looked once down the hall, which was empty to the nurses’ station, then out the window at the near end. The night view of the city held her for a moment. She pointed to the ladder.

“You want me to be Dozier.”

Silva nodded as she brushed and tapped her tablet, lips parted in concentration.

“I interviewed the patient who found him. Her room is under containment, so I had her sketch Dozier. Had her tell me everything as she did that. She was kind of freaked by my mask and gloves, but I think that helped us get to the point. Then I interviewed the nurses to determine time as best as possible.”

“Already?” Mendenhall was eyeing the ladder.

“I’m on a schedule. I have an hour. Then back down to the lab.”

Mendenhall started up the ladder.

“Wait,” said Silva. “I can be Dozier. I just thought you were closer to his height.”

“No. No. It’s fine.” Mendenhall ascended the ladder. “Let’s do these right. You can be the shorties.”

“He was slumped over the top. Calmly. The witness said calmly.

Like a rag doll.”

Mendenhall looked around from the perch, not bending over yet. “A rag doll? You mean the arms were straight?”

“Yes. And out a bit. We followed up on that. Like a rag doll without elbows.”

“So there was a trace of posturing?”

“Yes.”

Mendenhall looked down. She could see the surface of Silva’s tablet, that she was sending and receiving. She saw the line of broken glass. “The glass and the powder.”

Silva bent her head to see. Her black hair divided cleanly over her nape. “What about it?”

“It’s too straight. Right below this light. It fell straight down.” Then Mendenhall pointed to the two sockets. “Look.

The prongs are still in. Dozier didn’t drop it. It rained down from here.”

“Yes. That would fit,” replied Silva. She brushed and tapped her tablet. “The patient strolled to the end window. Saw Dozier climbing to the burned-out fluorescent. He nodded to her, seemed fine. After she passed, she heard the glass falling on the floor, turned and saw him slumped over.”

“His hand must’ve pulled it down as he collapsed.”

“Yeah.” Silva tapped the ladder. “You need to slump over. Like Dozier.”

Mendenhall did this, positioned her arms.

“Hold still.” With a cloth measuring tape, Silva plumbed a line from Mendenhall’s waist to the floor. She marked the linoleum with a grease pencil used for skin. She then used a small digital camera to take a profile of Mendenhall. “Okay, Doctor.”

“I feel like Claiborne’s puppet.” Mendenhall descended the ladder, flexed her shoulders.

“More Mullich’s,” Silva replied as she measured the distance from the floor mark to the walls. “He’s the one who wants these exact locations and positions. We’re more focused on time and behavior.”

Mendenhall looked at the window view again and this time stepped to it, about a pace and a half from the ladder. She recognized the view. She pointed up to the ceiling. “I was somewhere there above him. Right up there on the roof, looking out at this.” She waved to the nightscape of the city.

Silva said nothing as she entered and sent information. When she started to retrieve the dummy, Mendenhall stopped her.

“Leave him for the nurses. Which one next?”

9

Fleming’s room, too, was in containment, the sliding glass door locked. All the front walls on fourth floor recovery had been converted to glass. Last year the floor had been closed for one month during conversion. Mullich. This made several things easier and better, including containment and patient monitoring. Mendenhall wondered how far Mullich would go with the glass.

She and Silva viewed Fleming’s roommate before entering. The woman stared back, leaning forward, eyes wide. The cone of light from her bedside lamp appeared somehow domestic, yellow and shaded.

“We’ll break her heart if we put on masks and gloves.”

Silva put on fresh gloves and a mask. She handed Mendenhall a new set. “I’ll be Fleming.”

The roommate rose further from her recline as Mendenhall snapped on her gloves. The sliding door produced a soft breath as it opened. The room felt cool. Silva immediately moved bedside.

“We just have some questions. And you’ll have to help us re-create Fleming’s collapse.”

Mendenhall would have let this approach continue, would have happily joined in, but the roommate was locking up. “Ms. Silva is a lab technician. I’m Dr. Mendenhall.” She recalled the chart she had done for Fleming. “I treated Lana when they brought her to ER.”

She pretended to examine the screen showing the patient’s vitals.

Silva turned to Mendenhall, tablet raised. “I’m sorry, Doctor. Dr.

Claiborne ordered me to ask, order, and go.” She turned back to the patient. “Tell us what happened.”

Mendenhall took the patient’s pulse anyway, figuring the touch would offer some comfort. Comfort produced clarity. In the ER, two seconds of comfort sometimes brought all the clarity anyone needed.