When the old keeper forgot one latch, the 400-pound silverback reached through the steel

and after a moment he nodded toward the table.

“Coffee’s probably cold,” he said.

“It usually is where I work.”

Linda smiled, but Tom did not. He had turned back to the drawer, still holding the dish towel, and now his face had gone blank in the particular way I had seen in the corridor. Not empty. Searching. He looked at the silverware tray, the junk continue reading …