“Stuck how?”

“Stuck is stuck. And when something is stuck, Detective Merchant, what do you do? You apply force. Forge a path to your own destiny.” She gave a small shrug. “It’s really the only way.”

I had a million more questions for this woman with her sphinx-like riddles, but before I could ask them, Camilla turned. “All set? Ah. That looks like a fit to me.”

The fabric was uncomfortably tight over my hips, the pants several inches too short. On me, Camilla’s button-down shirt insisted on playing a game of peek-a-boob. “They’re perfect, thanks,” I said. “When you say you need to apply force—”

“You should get back downstairs. Would you mind,” she asked feebly, “if I stayed? I think I should lie down for a while. It’s been a day.”

I didn’t point out there was much more day to come. The woman looked worn to the bone. The idea of leaving her didn’t sit right, but neither did herding her back down those stairs. After Bram, Carson helped me learn to manage my emotions, but I’ve always worried I might be too ruthless and uncaring now. To do my job well I needed to feel. So I disregarded the voice in my head and reminded myself this was an elderly woman under a lot of stress.

“Of course. Stay,” I said.

“Thank you.” Camilla nodded at the wet clothes under my arm. “Give those to Philip. He’ll take care of them. Anything you need, just ask Philip.”

At the door, I looked back to see Camilla Sinclair sitting where I’d left her, staring at nothing at all.

FIFTEEN

When I finally got a chance to look at Jade’s phone again, this time in the privacy of the empty library, I was surprised by what I found. While Tim and I were getting to know her family, Jade had been getting to know us. A series of open browser windows showed she’d googled our names and the location of the A-Bay police station. She’d even pulled up contact info for the local sheriff. What did Jade want with McIntyre when she already had Tim and me?

I moved on to her photos next, navigating awkwardly with my left hand. I’ve got a teen niece, my brother’s kid, so I know the kind of nonsense girls get up to with their phones. Jade’s photos were different. There weren’t many images of her with friends. She didn’t use filters that turned her into an animated cat. Most of her camera roll captured Manhattan’s historic architecture, and there were some nature shots that weren’t half-bad. The girl had an eye for composition—and an audience. Her Instagram account, dedicated to her photography, showed two thousand followers.

I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky as to find an image of a bloody butcher’s knife, but I got the next best thing: pictures of Jasper with Jade. One shot showed them standing in front of a restaurant in the city. In another they were at a photography exhibit in the sort of sparse white space native to pop-up galleries. Both photos were selfies, and young Jade’s father was nowhere to be seen.