Five fifty-two.

The fax line downstairs closed at seven.

I left the tray where it sat and went out the side door by the dish return so I wouldn’t have to walk past their table again.

Marisol Herrera was at the elevator bank with a page in each hand, smoothing the top one flat with her thumb.

“Detective Ruiz faxed this down at four,” she said.

“He called the ward line first.