"Mr. Sandoval's going to be telling that one for a year."
"Let him."
She looked at him the way she had looked at the badge: a long, appraising look, unhurried, a woman reading a tag. "Five years," she said. "That's what Kearns asked for. They might give it to him. I've seen them give it for less."
"I know."
"Or they might not. I've seen that too." She shifted the tote bag. "Either way, he'll be on the unit Thursday. We've got a man in bed four who's going to go this week, I think. Sean's been sitting with him."
He nodded. There was something he wanted to say, and it was lodged somewhere under his breastbone, and he could not find the front of it.
"December second," he said finally.
Her face did not change. "That's right."
"The letter on the desk on the second floor. It'll come to the drug unit, I'd think, or to records. It'll come to me if anyone asks. I was the affiant."