Arturo makes his way down the long corridors of Ravenspond General Hospital, discreetly led by a plain clothes policewoman. When Eric Pederssen had called and asked for his assistance in the shooting case, he had immediately responded yes.
The air, as it always seems to be in medical institutions, smells of bleach and lemony disinfectant. A gurney rushes past him, pushed by a paramedic. Arturo stares down at the tiny body of a small unconscious child under tight white sheets; the toddler’s complexion is drained of color. He stops for a moment in stunned sadness.
In front of him, his guide turns right at the next intersection of hallways. He follows her, glancing around to make sure no one is noticing them. The coast seems clear.
Ten minutes later, she signals to him they’ve arrived at t
