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see you, Judge Hunt.”
    Savich introduced himself, stepped back to let Dr. Kardak examine Ramsey. He was an older man, tall and thin as a whip handle, and he looked tired, like he’d gone ten rounds with death and just barely won.
    When Dr. Kardak noticed Ramsey’s eyes on him, he said, “Ah, Judge Hunt, you’re awake and with us, excellent. My trauma team and I operated on you last night, and I’ve come to check how you’re doing.” Without waiting for an answer, he started to examine the IV lines and the fluid in contraptions Ramsey was tied to. All the while, he kept up a running monologue about what they had found at surgery, the broken ribs, the torn lung, the blood in the chest cavity, as if it were all business as usual and nothing to be worried about. When he at last listened to Ramsey’s chest and examined his dressings, he said, “You sound good, Judge Hunt. I’m hopeful your lung will stay fully expanded and that we can pull out the chest tube this weekend. You need it for now, but I know it can hurt like the dickens.”
    When Dr. Kardak straightened, Savich asked him, “How close a thing was it, doctor?”
    Dr. Kardak said, “Tough to say, but he got to us—a level-one trauma center—in what we call the golden hour.” He touched long, thin fingers to Ramsey’s pulse. “Your major risk was blood loss, Judge Hunt, and that’s behind you. You’re going to live. That’s not to say you’re going to be happy for a while, but it beats the alternative.”
    “Amen,” Ramsey said. “Thank you.”
    “Make full use of the morphine. We can give you something else if it doesn’t hold you.”
    Ramsey pressed the button again. “Now that I know about this magic button, I’m thinking I’ll empty it pretty fast.”
    Dr. Kardak said, “Not a problem. Three of us worked on you in the OR, Judge Hunt. Dr. Janes kept reminding us you were Judge Dredd and we’d be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town if you went down on our watch.” He gave Ramsey a fat smile, then turned to Molly and took her hands in his. “Your husband is strong and healthy, and, trust me, the team here is excellent. Try not to worry. Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. I heard your daughter play Bach’s
Italian Concerto
at the children’s concert with the symphony two years ago. My wife still remembers how well she played it. In fact, I remember she wept when Emma played the second movement. I read she’ll be playing Gershwin with the symphony in early December. Congratulations. She is incredible. Now, Agent Savich, Judge Hunt should rest.”
    Ramsey said, his voice low, a bit slurred, “Special Agent Dillon Savich is a longtime friend of ours. He knows all about gunshot wounds, and he’s here to help.”
    “Is that so?” Dr. Kardak shook Savich’s hand again, even though he’d already met him. He said, “I met your wife in the hall. Hard to believe two FBI agents married, as in to each other. How does that work?”
    “I’m her boss. It’s up to me to make it work.”
    “And how do you do that? Men everywhere would like to know.”
    “I tell her to suck it up when she disagrees with me.”
    This brought a laugh and a “Good luck with that” from Dr. Kardak. He said, “I’ll be in the hospital all day if you have any questions or concerns.”
    Molly grabbed his sleeve. “Why is that? You said Ramsey would be all right.”
    “Yes, I did. I mentioned my being here, close by, only to help you feel confident and supported. It will be just me you need to ask for, no residents or medical students. Judge Hunt, if you want to sleep, simply close your eyes and everyone will go away.”
    Dr. Kardak was a very nice man, Savich thought. “Molly, do you think you and Sherlock could trade off for a while?”
    Molly didn’t want to leave, it was plain to see, but she did after kissing Ramsey and promising to bring him a pint of his favorite pistachio ice cream.

San Francisco General Hospital
    Friday afternoon
    U.S. Federal