“Definitely a suitcase,” Michael Davies said. “Samsonite, those silver ones, looks like you’re transporting nuclear waste.”

“And you don’t remember anything else?”

“That’s it, except she had a shoe missing.”

“What sort of shoe?”

“I don’t know, it was missing, wasn’t it? But if it was anything like the other one . . .”

“I think it’s safe to assume it was.”

“Well, you’re the detective, but if it was, then you’re looking for a trainer, white, a black stripe.”

The policeman asked if Michael had a work number.

Michael told him not to call him at work.

The policeman asked why not.

Michael told him he was an air traffic controller.

The policeman said he wouldn’t call him at work.

“Hope you find her,” said Michael.

“I hope we do, too, sir.”

Not a chance, they both thought.

“Thank you for your call.”

718

“This is a call for Miss Emma Heron recently arrived on flight SA841 from New York, could you please contact the information desk. Thank you.”

John Heron wanted to tell the woman who’d made the announcement that it was Mrs. Heron, not Miss. If Emma was in the airport and she heard herself referred to as “Miss” she’d fling her wedding ring in his face, saying, Was that what he wanted? ‘Cos that would be absolutely fine by her. She’d done it before.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Pleasure. I’ll do another one in five minutes if she hasn’t appeared.”

He sat on a luggage trolley.

A minute passed. He wished he wasn’t wearing his stupid dinner suit. Security personnel walked by.

717

Cody Jameson made a move on Frankburg’s building.

Just then an old Nissan pulled up, and out came a stocky, longhaired man carrying a small parcel. He left the car door open and the stereo boomed as he trotted up to the door of the office building. Selecting the letter box marked FRANKBURG, the man posted the parcel inside and hopped back into his car.

Conquer Panic dubbed and delivered.

The music became a muted series of thumps and the car sped off. Cody decided to have one more cigarette, just to be on the safe side. The gritty scriptwriter assured herself that if she was caught she would say she was doing gritty research. And it wouldn’t matter if she was caught because getting caught was pretty gritty, too.

716

Frankburg himself was driving home. He took a slower pace. No camera would catch him out this time. He took it carefully around the labyrinthine underpasses and one-way systems. A figure stood on a bridge overlooking the road. Frankburg kept his eye on him anxiously. He knew some people with pathological problems often threw things onto car windshields.

715

Samuel Thorn sniffed the night air and smelled exhaust fumes, cooking fat, and failure.

After Kirsten died, Samuel gave Ronald Henderson words of encouragement. Told him Kirsten had been a wonderful woman. Told him time was a great healer. Said he was strong enough to get through it. Said he understood how he felt. Told him God worked in mysterious ways.