Ninety Seconds

"You're not supposed to be in here."

Sedgwick stood in the doorway, his briefing cut short, with Officer Brill behind him. At his elbow, summoned upstairs for a write-up I suspect, was Bridget Marlowe.

He looked at the tracing sheet in my hand and at the open drawer. His face didn't change, which told me he had rehearsed this moment too.

"Company property," he said. "Mr. Frost, you're trespassing. Ms. Brandt, your keys."

"You forged a signature," Imani said.

"I keep samples for the new approvals process." He shrugged. "Whose name is that? Some rider's. And you're standing in my office with a man who was already thrown out today. Who do you think they'll believe?"

I turned to Bridget. She was staring at the page, and her arrogance had gone out of her like air from a tire.

"Ms. Marlowe. Where does the complaint box go?"

"Bridget," Sedgwick said.

She swallowed. "He empties it himself. Fridays. Nobody else has the key."

"And what were you told to do with a rider's warning?"

"Put it in the box. Don't log it. Don't argue, don't investigate, don't waste time." Her voice shook. "If they complained about the floor or the lights or the announcements, that wasn't a window issue."

"Bridget, you're finished," Sedgwick said mildly.

She didn't stop. She reached into her vest and pulled out a folded sheet of notebook paper, soft from being carried.

"I wrote them down anyway. Eleven names. A lady with a hearing aid. A man with a bad knee. I told every one of them it wasn't my department and then I went home and couldn't sleep." She held it out to me with both hands. "I don't know why I kept it."

I took it. It weighed almost nothing. It was the first honest piece of paper I'd seen all morning. Behind me, while Sedgwick glared at Bridget, Imani slid the brown folder out of the drawer and tucked it under her blazer. Nobody saw but me.

"That's enough theater," Sedgwick said. "Mr. Frost, if you believe the crossover is unsafe, go ahead. Call Rail Control. Ask Cal Nakamura whose word he takes."

He nodded at the desk phone, sure of himself.

I pressed the speaker button and dialed.

"Rail Control, Nakamura."

I told him I had reason to believe the Platform 6 crossover was unsafe and asked him to hold the 10:40.

"Sir, the deferral's approved on file. A hold takes the station manager's countersign, or Rider Services in person with confirmed ID." A pause. "Who am I speaking with?"

I could have given my name. Over a desk phone, with Sedgwick smiling beside me and no ID in my hand, it would have been one more voice claiming a title.

"A rider," I said.

"Then I can't do it, sir. I'm sorry."

The line clicked off.

"Ninety seconds," Sedgwick said. "That is all the time a stranger's word gets in this building. Brill, walk them down through the concourse, and this time nobody uses a side door."