The doctor came out of the treatment room with Quill’s phone in a labeled bag.
Tessa stood before he spoke. She had been watching the door for any change in the movement behind its frosted glass. The doctor asked her to sit. She remained standing until he said that Inspector Maren Quill had died despite the team’s efforts.
The words reached her in pieces. She remembered Quill counting stains on the clinic ceiling and asking whether her sister still had the apartment key. She remembered the pressure of the inspector’s fingers against the packet. Neither memory prepared her for the stillness that followed.
“Her sister is on the way,” Tessa said.
“We’ve contacted her using the number on the handover sheet. A nurse will meet her when she arrives.”
Tessa sat. The sealed envelope rested in her bag between her knees. She had kept it out of the ordinary belongings at Quill’s request. She wanted to open it now, to find the sentence that would make the inspector’s fear and death fit into a clear account. The seal remained intact.
Nora arrived a few minutes later. Tessa told her what the doctor had said. The advocate sat beside her without opening a notebook immediately.
