Her expression textured, an odd blend of nostalgia and loss, and David knew she was thinking of his mother. When she looked at him, he sensed a glimmer of newfound respect. She spread her arms so he could hug her, which he did, despite the pain.

She squeezed him tightly, as if afraid to let go. Her lips were close to his ear, so he heard her perfectly when she whispered in her smooth, deep voice, "I'd recommend your not coming in for a while."

They broke off the embrace and regarded each other.

"I understand," David said.

He nodded. Sandy rose to leave, still not so much as acknowledging Diane.

"What was the vote?" David asked.

Sandy paused by the door. "Excuse me?"

"You said the board voted for me to step down. I'd like to know what the vote was."

Sandy readjusted the brooch on her suit jacket-a gold scarab. "Fourteen to one."

David pushed himself up to a sitting position, letting his legs dangle over the side of the gurney. He studied his bare feet. "Who was the one?"

"You know I can't disclose that."

"Who was the one?"

Sandy sighed. "You know who the one was." Her hand described an arc in the air and landed back on her hip. "Me." She nodded curtly and walked out, leaving the door open behind her.

David pressed on the flesh around his wound to gauge its redness. His white fingerprint slowly faded. When he looked up, Diane was watching him.

"I cannot believe they'd have you step down as chief. I mean, it's ridiculous. It can be overturned. You'd get staff support, I'm sure."

"Not anymore," David said.

"Aren't you going to protest?"

"It's an appointed position, not a political race."

"Okay," Diane said. "Okay." She drummed her fingernails against the door.

He stood up. The thumping pain in his side alerted him that the morphine was fading. His face still felt loose and blurry, and he knew he probably looked like hell. Unhooking his IV bag from its pole, he carried it with him as he walked over to Diane. He stopped a few feet short of her.

Diane blew a strand of hair off her face. He watched her closely, lovingly.

"I don't adore you," he said. "Not at all."

"Good." Some of the anger left her face. "I don't adore you either."

Chapter 69

CLYDE'S breath fogged the window against which he leaned as he gazed down the seven-story drop to the dark square of the UCLA Medical Center quad. The top tier of the PCHS parking structure glowed beneath the lights, crammed with cars and trucks. The security guards moved up and down the rows in their nurse-white shirts. The top floors of the office buildings on Le Conte were also in view, sticking up above the fringe of trees like dominoes, and he could just make out the splintered wreckage of the scaffolding.

Clyde kept his eye on one car in particular-the olive-green Mercedes parked in the choicest spot near the hospital. From this distance, the ashole lettering on its side was visible only as a red smudge.

A few drops of condensation resolved on the foggy glass and trickled to the sill. He'd been watching for some time.

He spotted the white coat first, then recognized David walking tenderly up the concrete stairs to the top level, Diane Trace slightly in front of him. At either side of them were men in suits-one standing tall and lean, the other wide and slumped. The detectives.

After discussing something animatedly, they helped David into his car. Then they headed down to the lower tier, escorting Diane to her Explorer.

The Mercedes pulled out of the parking structure, Diane's car just behind it. When they passed the parking kiosks, a van pulled out from the curb and followed them both, about a block back.

Clyde pressed both palms against the glass on either side of his face, like a mime, and watched David's car until it disappeared from view.

Don strode up to Sandy's door, white coat flaring. He raised his hand to knock, but before he could, Sandy's voice issued through the solid door. "Come in."

A Bic pen behind her ear, Sandy worked at the conference table under the glow of the green banker's lamp. She flipped through a contract, sighed, tossed it to the side, and glanced at the next document in the pile before her.

"Dr. Evans, I'd like to thank you for your support in this matter, regarding Dr. Spier." Sandy did not look up. Don waited for a response, but finding none, continued. "It was, uh, a wise decision, I believe, for the division."

Still looking down at her paperwork, Sandy mumbled something under her breath.

"I'm sorry?" Don said.

Sandy finally looked up. "I said, 'Go fuck yourself,' Dr. Lambert." She pulled the pen from behind her ear and attacked the next file in her stack.

Don watched her work for a few moments, his mouth slightly ajar. He made sure to close the door quietly behind him when he left.