Evans appeared in the doorway in a rumpled tan trench coat, clutching a brown portfolio against his ribs.

Rebecca turned in her leather chair, the color draining from her mouth.

“What is this?” Rebecca asked.

Evans didn’t answer her.

He looked at Arthur, then at me, his fingers creeping up to touch the point of his chin.

“Come in, Doctor,” Arthur said.

“We saved you a seat.”

Evans lowered himself into an armchair and laid the portfolio across his knees like a shield.