Dr.

Douglas Sinclair was forty-one.

He was wearing a dark overcoat over a shirt and no tie, and he had the pink backpack under his left arm, and he put his phone in his pocket as he came through the door and produced an expression of exhausted relief.

“Oh, thank God.

Are they here?

Two little girls, seven, twins — somebody called me from the school gate app, I’ve been driving around for—”