I had slept much later than I had intended. It in fact surprised me that I had been able to sleep this long: Generally, when I am this far into a case, sleep is something I am lucky to acquire in three- and four-hour chunks. In fact, I had to force myself awake to escape the scenery that sleep was conjuring. I had dreamed I was lost in a jumble of tall houses in a city somewhere, having crossed a bridge from a neighborhood of smaller houses. I was having a long talk with Tom. He was telling me that Faye was okay, and that I should go my own way and have a good life. But Tom was dead. Did that mean I was dreaming of my own death? Or had something inside me died? And why hadn’t Tom asked me about his tiny daughter? He didn’t seem worried about her. Why? I got up off the enormous bed with its opulent furnishings and lurched into the bathroom, where I took a freezing-cold shower to yank myself the rest of the way out of the dream. Agent Wardlaw would no doubt be waiting for me downstairs, and I did not want to face him half-asleep.
