Chapter 13: The Man in the Lot

"Don't look at him," Roan said. "Walk like we're going to my truck."

I put the book in my bag and zipped it.

We went down the dock steps and across the lot, side by side, a foot apart.

The car by the fence had its lights off and its engine on.

A lens slid up in the driver's window.

"He's not good at this," I said.

"Stay behind me."

"Absolutely not."

I walked straight to the driver's door and knocked on the glass with my knuckle.

The window came down six inches.

The man inside was forty, unshaven, with a camera in his lap and a cold cup of gas station coffee in the holder.

"Evening," I said. "I'm Anja Dahlquist. You've been taking my picture."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then you won't mind if the night crew comes to look."

I turned and raised my voice.

"Can somebody get security? There's a man in the lot with a camera!"

The dock door banged open.

The respiratory tech came first, then the charge nurse, then a guard with his hand on his radio.

The man in the car swore under his breath.

"Step out of the vehicle, sir," the guard said.

He did.

He was shorter than he had looked through the glass, and his hands were shaking.

"I'm just a freelancer," he said. "I do video."

"Who hired you?" Roan asked.

"I'm not saying."

"You photographed a hospital dock," the charge nurse said. "Patients come through that door."

The guard held out his hand.

The man looked at the faces around him, and his shoulders came down.

"Fine. It's on the card."

He pulled out a small memory card and put it in the guard's palm.

"Kasper Lindahl hired me," he said. "Four weeks ago. He said it was a wife who was cheating on him."

"I was married to him until Thursday," I said.

"I know that now. I looked you up in the car. You're the one who walked off his stage."

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