“What?” said Todd. “Everybody’s got a home. Except,” he added stupidly, “homeless people.”

“This lady don’t sleep rough,” said Behm. “So far as I can tell, she don’t sleep at all.”

“I’m really not following any of this,” Todd said.

“I went where she went,” said Behm slowly. “It wasn’t easy. She knew how to get me off her trail. I’d be right behind her and she’d just—vanish. I’d turn my head and she’d be gone. Real professional.”

“So she’s done this before,” Todd said. “Broken up a few marriages, got good at shaking the private dick.”

“Nobody shakes me,” said Behm. “I spent three months following a Viet Cong once.”

“In the war?” asked Todd.

“Baltimore,” said Behm. “So I didn’t feel that your wife’s girlfriend was going to be a problem.”

“Guess you were wrong,” Todd said.

“Guess I was,” said Behm.

There was a moment of silence.

“Well, it’s been good catching up,” said Todd. “But I have to get on with my day. Call me when you have something new, won’t you?”

He handed Behm his photos. Behm shook his head.

“I haven’t told you yet,” he said.

“Told me what?”

“Those photos… they’re her.”

Todd took a photo, the one from the park. He scoured it. There were a couple of people in the far distance.

“She one of them?” he said.

“No,” said Behm. “She’s right square in the middle of the shot. Or at least she should be.”

He pointed to the middle of the photograph. There was nothing there.

“Same as these two pictures. Same as all of them. She was in them all, Mr. Milstead.”

“I don’t see anyone,” said Todd. He was starting to wonder if Behm was okay in the head.

“I know you don’t,” said Behm, in the tones of a man who is about to lose his patience. “Because I don’t see anyone either. The difference is, when I took those shots, she was there. Right in front of me. She was there,” he repeated, his finger stabbing at the prints. “There.”

Todd backed away a little. “Maybe there’s a fault with your camera, or the lab,” he said.

Behm shook his head. “No kind of fault does that, Mr. Milstead. And no kind of fault does this.”

As he spoke he pulled one more photo from his jacket. Great, conjuror’s tricks now, thought Todd. Then he saw the photo. It showed Janis, walking down the street, talking. Talking in a relaxed way, happy even, like she was talking to someone she cared about, someone who probably cared about her.

The only thing was, whoever that person might be, they weren’t in the photograph. Janis was talking to thin air.

“You beginning to see what I mean now, Mr. Milstead?” said Behm.

“You did something to them,” Todd said.