The text message at the red light on Main Street flashed through my mind.

The urgent, low conversation around the alcove fifteen minutes earlier.

He hadn’t been leaving a voicemail for his division director, Alan Vance.

He had been calling his mother to come get him.

“Is that true, Ethan?” I asked.

“Did you call your mother to pick you up?”

Ethan looked down at the black coat folded across his lap.

His hands tightened in the wool until his knuckles turned white.