I touched my gold wedding band.

“He’s already in there,” I said.

Claire tapped her glasses on her yellow legal pad.

“Let him be in there,” Claire said.

“We’ve got the original intake forms and a forensic timeline.

He’s got a rolled-up newspaper and a loud voice.”

We found him on a wooden bench outside Department Four.

He was wearing his good navy suit, the one we’d bought for his sister’s wedding three years earlier.