Old reflexes returned to the former homicide detective. Ridgeway searched the car, the room. He took notes. He questioned the front desk, the bellhops, and the thin balding man who had parked the rental car.

The Zurich police were unimpressed that Ridgeway had once been a policeman, and more than a little annoyed that he had already interviewed many of the logical people.

Later, they sat in the comfortable chairs in the room overlooking the lake and discussed the case.

“There is no sign of foul play, Herr Ridgeway,” the ranking officer had reminded him. “Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding?”

It took Ridgeway a moment to grasp the man’s meaning. Had they had an argument that caused Zoe to disappear? Ridgeway controlled his frustration. Back when he was a cop he had reached similar conclusions and said similar words to men and women whose spouses had taken sudden leave. He could hear his own voice as the official continued. “Perhaps there was something she was upset about and that you were unaware of? It happens. Perhaps in a few hours …” He shrugged. “In any event without any indication of foul play there is nothing we can do. There is no law against running away.”

Ridgeway wanted to tell the policeman about their love, about how Zoe would never do such a thing. But the words of others who had told him similar things in his own years as a cop came to his ear and he held his tongue.

The police left as discreetly as they had come. But he still received dour frowns from the front desk every time he passed. It was his punishment, no doubt, for performing such a tasteless act as summoning common policemen to the lobby of such a fine establishment

Ridgeway got no sleep that night. He paced the room, pausing each time to gaze at the lake as if it had something it could tell him about Zoe. But through it all the pulsing void inside of him grew. Never had he ever felt so alone. Horrible visions from his police days replayed themselves over and over.

He was exhausted and nearly ready for sleep the next morning when the breakfast he ordered arrived with a Zurich newspaper. He had intended to eat and then catch a few hours’ sleep before continuing his investigation. But he got not farther than the bottom of the first page. A headline on the right-hand side leaped out at him and chased the fatigue from his thoughts:

KREUZLINGEN ESTATE BURNS; OWNER SUFFERS HEART ATTACK

He read the story. Just hours after Zoe had concluded her negotiations with the estate’s owner it had been destroyed by a massive fire. According to the story, the contents of the estate—including its priceless paintings—had been consumed by the flames. The owner, the story continued, had suffered a crippling heart attack and serious burns trying to save his collection.

With the newspaper on the seat beside him, Ridgeway had pushed the rented car to its mechanical limits during his crazed drive to Kreuzlingen. But all he found there was another frustrating dead end.