He wrote the date on the flap with his brass pen, then capped it.

“One o’clock,” he said.

“You’re due at the hospital.

I’ll take this to my office and start the chain of custody.”

I checked my watch.

Twelve forty.

At one o’clock the reception desk on the ICU floor had a different woman behind it, a hospital administration lanyard around her neck.

She held out a clipboard with a single page on it.