was just one shot, right?”
“If you say so.”
The captain raised his voice to get everyone’s attention. “As I mentioned, I received confirmation today that in little more than a month, the foreign minister will make an official visit.” He got a couple of satisfied nods in reply, and the male embassy official started talking about plans for the event, something about a motorcade, and soon the other guests at the table fell back into their little conversations.
“Shot angles, bruises, and whether he was under the influence when shot, that much I can handle,” said the doctor, who’d swallowed the bait during the break in conversation. “I can run some tests here, through the French hospital in the city.”
“When?”
The doctor didn’t hear Grip. “But no fine points. I can’t tell you the caliber of the bullet, or what he’s had for lunch. I don’t want to slice him up too much.”
“When can you start?” repeated Grip.
The doctor had stopped debating with himself. “Tomorrow. I can start in the morning.”
The women in white began to clear away the empty plates.
“And when exactly will you have the results?” It was the first officer, looking across the table at Grip.
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