P. Room, but not until Monday.” The repair was deferred so as to not offer temptation to another group of roving Bob Johnsons before their scheduled checkout on Sunday. While he was writing, Am took two peeks: one at his watch and the other at Sharon. His high school basketball coach had said that only a team that was tired, or losing, or both, looked at the clock. Whenever he acknowledged the time, Am felt he was close to defeat. It was almost six o'clock, depressingly early for the work that still had to be done. Sharon was a better sight than the hour. The intern was holding up surprisingly well, better than most of his seasoned staff. Still, she had to be tired. “Why don't you go home?” asked Am. “Get a good night's sleep.” The words were offered almost wistfully. “What are you going to do?” “Try to talk to McHugh and see what he's learned about the murders.” She didn’t hesitate: “Count me in.”
