Michael Cooke sat behind the wheel with the engine off and looked at the cap on the dashboard. Navy, with the eagle on the front, and the peak gone soft from 20 years of his thumb. He looked at it long enough that I nearly said something. Then he picked it up and got out, and I got out after him into the cold. It had been dark for nearly 2 hours.
We were halfway up the path when the front door opened.
Dion Asare stood in it in a pair of our training socks, pulled up his shins, and no shoes. Behind him, at the end of the hall, a television was on loud enough to hear from the gate, and a presenter was saying my name.
"...a contract until June 2021, and the question this desk has been asking since August. Does today end the Danny Walsh question? Roy."
"She has had it on since 5," Dion said. "Sorry."
"What for?"
He did not answer that. He looked at the cap in Cooke's hand, then stood back against the coats on the hooks to let us by.
