“I can promise nothing will leave this room for now. There are other officers on the way, but I’ll make sure if they need to remove anything they talk to you about it first.”

“I’m not referring to your colleagues,” she said. “I want you to tell them.”

“Your family?” I frowned. Why worry that a family member would take Jasper’s stuff? Then again, her grandson was nowhere to be found while the rest of the Sinclairs sat warm and dry downstairs. “I’ll tell them.”

She nodded and looked down at the framed photograph in her hand. “Where is he, detective? Where has my Jasper gone?”

I said, “I’m going to have a closer look in here, all right? As soon as I know anything, anything at all, I’ll come down and tell you.”

For a moment I thought she might collapse. I hurried over, prepared to catch her if she fell, but Camilla shut her eyes and drew a deep, yoga-style breath. When her eyelids lifted, she shooed away my hands and turned to leave, somber yet self-possessed once more.

At the door, she stopped. “You’ll find him,” Camilla said. It wasn’t a question.

Remembering Norton’s request, I said, “I’ll do everything I can. That’s a promise.”

She turned her gaze back to the bed and her eyes went glassy. “Grandparents aren’t supposed to have favorites.”

He’s special. That’s another thing people say when somebody goes missing. I’ve heard relatives declare it about lost loved ones many times. The one who was taken is always the best. It’s a philosophy that highlights the injustice of what’s happened, and heightens the drama of it all; humans are hardwired for storytelling, and every good story needs drama. I doubted Jasper was the snowflake his grandmother thought him to be—but I had to admit in the looks department, he was remarkable. The man in the photograph Camilla had showed me, a candid shot taken in sparkling sunshine, might have been Jude Law in the nineties. Jasper’s hair and eyes were threaded with gold and his straight teeth generated a leading-man smile. His nose had a slight bend, a lacrosse or football injury from his teen years no doubt. It only added to his mystique.

“Special doesn’t begin to describe him,” Camilla said. “Do you know Jasper’s the only one who visits me? Three times a week in the city, just to keep me company. We play cards. He’s a young man with an important job and a busy life, but he always makes time for me, and never asks for anything in return. Most grandchildren don’t do that. Believe me. I know.” When she shifted her meager weight, the floorboards didn’t so much as whisper. “He deserves better. I’ve always thought so.”

I wondered what she meant by that last bit—better than gold watches and private islands?—but by then Camilla had moved into the hall. I watched her descend the staircase, each step a painstaking struggle. Only when I heard Tim’s voice greet her on the main floor did I go back into Jasper’s room.