Chapter 12: Twenty Minutes

Colton stood in the middle of Winslow's living room.

His coat was still on and his hands were in his pockets.

He looked at the ceiling, the bay windows and the city lights.

He did not look at me.

I had pulled on jeans and a sweater, and my hair was still damp.

Winslow had buttoned his shirt wrong.

Nobody mentioned it.

"I didn't come to fight," said Colton.

"Then why did you come?" I said.

"The photographs. The ones you said your friend took of the tubes."

Winslow took out his phone, opened the picture and handed it over.

Colton looked at it for a long time.

His jaw moved.

"Four-four-seven-one," he said. "Four-four-seven-two."

"Yes."

"The report says four-four-eight-one and four-four-eight-two."

"Yes."

"Dalton said that was a clerical error."

"Do you think it was?" I asked.

He didn't answer.

He handed back the phone and walked to the window.

"I called the man from the hotel's medical office this afternoon," he said to the glass.

"The one who rode in the car with Brynn."

"What did he say?"

"He said they got as far as a coffee shop on First Avenue."

Winslow and I looked at each other.

"Brynn told him she felt faint," said Colton.

"She asked him to wait in the car with the engine running, and she took the bag inside with her."

"How long?"

"Twenty minutes."

The word sat in the room.

"She said she'd been beside him every minute," I said.

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