She was looking at the silver key ring I had placed between us on the yellow oilcloth.

“This was in your desk drawer at the hospital?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, leaning against the counter.

“Under a stack of intake forms from Thursday.”

Sloan picked up the ring.

It was cracked near the hinge, a tiny split in the metal where a smaller loop had been forced onto it.

She turned one of the heavy brass keys over with her thumb, examining the small stamped letters near the collar.

“These are specialty keys,” Sloan said.