Alex pulled up a chair beside her and sat close enough to hear the other end of the conversation when she turned the receiver half away from her ear. Midnight Kyoto time was two o’clock in the afternoon in London, and the insurance company’s switchboard operator answered on the second ring. She had a sweet, girlish voice. “May I help you?” Joanna said, “Is this British-Continental Insurance?” After a pause the operator said, “Yes.” “I need to speak to someone in your claims department.” “Do you know the name of the claims officer you want?” “No,” Joanna said. “Anyone will do.” “What sort of policy does the claim involve?” “Life insurance.” “One moment, please.” For a while the line carried nothing but background static: a steady hissing, intermittent sputtering. The man in the claims department finally came on the line. He clipped his words with crisp efficiency as sharp as any scissors. “Phillips speaking. Something I can help you with?”
