He’d brought the letter to the Messenger in person as soon as he unearthed it, taxiing across London to their offices near the embankment. The elaborate security in the lobby made it impossible to surprise Sauer as he’d have liked. Reception had to call up with his name. An assistant had to come down to verify that Marco was who he said he was. A photo of him had to be taken and printed onto a pass. But none of this diminished the pleasure of confronting his nemesis.

“I knew I had the fucker!”

“What was he like?”

“Bland. Early forties I’d say. A bit overweight. Gingery hair and eyebrows. Puffy face without a lot going on in it. He started out in that ridiculous flowery mode of his, telling me what a pleasant surprise it was to meet me in person. He even complimented me on a program of mine he claimed to’ve seen as a student. I shoved the letter at him. You should have seen him as he read it. He was trying to look unimpressed, but these giveaway signs were twitching all over him. He was swallowing, darting his little tongue out to wet his lips, drumming his fingers on the desk . . . When he was finished he cleared his throat and sort of tucked his chin into his neck, looking at me with this weird expression that I think was supposed to be gently reproving, as if he’d caught me trying to pull a fast one. He started questioning the authenticity of the letter, arguing that I could have written it myself, or that Gerald Woolley might be somehow in cahoots with me after all these years. I didn’t bother arguing back—just told him he could think what he liked and that if he still wanted to go ahead and publish the piece, that was his call but he could expect a robust reaction from me. He’d gone bright pink in the cheeks by this point. ‘I’ll show it to legal, if it’ll make you more comfortable,’ he says, still trying to sound like he doesn’t believe it’ll make any difference. I told him I wasn’t going to leave the original but that he could make a copy if he wanted. He said in that case he wouldn’t bother, since he was only offering for my sake. I got up to leave, basically calling his bluff. I’d just turned my back when I heard him say in this strangled voice, ‘All right. We’ll make a copy.’ So that’s what we did. I didn’t hear from him after that. In fact I haven’t heard a word from him since. He’s apparently too much of a prick to let me know they’ve pulled the piece. But they have.”

“How do you know?”

“Julia told me.”

“What?”