Chapter 16: The Body in Question

Qing had arranged the rear clinic for a confession and produced a minor hostage negotiation. Two chairs faced each other across six feet of clean floor. The portable heater stood beside Su's chair, a thermos of ginger broth within reach. Qing had removed the ceramic lamp and every glass jar from the nearest shelf. "Evan has never thrown anything here," Su said. "He has never been told you can swallow him." "I cannot swallow him." Qing paused beside the rear door. "That was not the reassurance I wanted." "It was the accurate one." The clock above the sink read six fifty-seven. Qing's gaze dropped to Su's charcoal wrap skirt, chosen because trousers did not forgive changes in anatomy. "If he shouts, I am coming in." "He is unlikely to shout." "You do not know that." No. She did not. Qing touched two fingers to the doorframe, an old habit that…