Evan, dressed in distressed jeans and a white polo, sat in the chair where I’d fallen asleep. He was leaning forward, resting his forearms on his elbows. Xavier was standing by the bookshelves, leaning his fists on a table. He looked exhausted and shell-shocked—not relieved as I’d imagined—as if everything he knew could no longer be counted on.

Madame and I perched on the sofa.

“Alors,” Madame began. “Qu'est-ce qui s’est passé?”

“We will talk in English for Josie and Evan,” Xavier said.

“Yes, of course.” Madame shook her head. “So what happened? How did they get to her?”

I could tell she was still blaming herself, and I squeezed her hand. My gesture didn’t escape Xavier’s notice.

“We won’t know all of it until the police have been through the surveillance tapes,” Evan said, “or Dauphine can tell us. But she isn’t saying much.”

Poor girl was probably in shock and exhausted.

“There isn’t much surveillance footage in that part of the marina due to the recent construction so whatever Dauphine shares will be critical in the case against Michello.”

“Maybe she will talk tomorrow,” Xavier said.

“Where did you find her?” I asked.

Evan explained that he’d known about a boat Michello had been sleeping on since getting out of prison because he’d been having him followed just to keep an eye on him. “He took Dauphine there with the promise of ice cream and pictures of Arriette—that’s how we think he got her to trust him. What we are piecing together is how Michello knew Dauphine was with her grandmother. Someone must have informed him of our movements.”

My stomach clenched tightly. And I looked to Xavier, who dropped his eyes from mine. So this was it. I was still the suspect? Grief almost felled me.

“We think it’s Rod,” Evan went on.

Wait.

What?

“Rodney?” Madame asked, shocked.

“What?” I asked. “Rod, as in the deck hand, oi-all-right-mate-Rod? No.” I shook my head in bewilderment. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” I swallowed. “Would he?” And here I should just be happy I wasn’t the suspect anymore … but Rod? Oh my God. Poor Xavier. We’d all trusted him. “How … why do you think that?”