Oscar watched the oily rainbow slick shift and break on its black surface. As long as he swirled, he didn’t think. As long as he didn’t think, he was okay.From the far end of the corridor came a carillon trill of laughter. Two nurses joked. The predawn sky out the window was pewter-gray. By habit he glanced up at the hospital corridor clock. It was nearly six in the morning. Behind him were the double doors leading back into Cardiac Care. He’d moved out here at around four, after he’d caught himself watching the blips on Sandro’s cardiac monitor with the intensity of a doomsday scryer. At some point, a nurse had brought him a pair of trousers from Lost Property and spirited his old pair away, but he still smelled faintly of gas and blood.A door opened somewhere, and he heard footsteps approaching.Moechtar’s suit and face matched—businesslike and bland. He carried a leather document folder. Oscar nodded to himself. Only dazzling promotions and embarrassing departures arrived out of the office at six in the morning, and there was no fanfare accompanying his inspector.Moechtar sat beside him.
