Set in motion, he couldn’t be stopped short of annihilation, and plenty of men had tried that and failed. Schroeder snapped around as we entered the office. He wore a transparent plastic raincoat over a dark suit, no hat, his red-tinged hair fighting on top of his skull like very thin slivers of electric-charged wire. His pale blue eyes were bleak and very alert. “It’s damned well time you got here, Morgan!” he said to Sam. “You think I’ve got all night? Do you? I’ve got to get moving on this thing!” Sam nodded and closed the door behind me and I heard him flick the latch. He was taking no chances, either. I began to sweat. I couldn’t understand what he’d said in the hall—I couldn’t get it through my head. Yet, if the police were after me by name, Schroeder would have shown plenty of interest. As it was, he didn’t even look at me for a moment. Sam said, “There was something I had to do.” He glanced toward me. “I thought I was supposed to meet you over at headquarters, Lieutenant.”
