Devin hadn’t expected anything. Even if his pursuers had managed to track either him or Berg to the Cantler’s parking lot, they most certainly didn’t follow him here. He’d made sure of that with his trip through the countryside. The SDR had been solid, and the car was untraceable to Helen, as far as Devin could tell. He couldn’t find the registration anywhere in the car and assumed she’d bought it in a private transaction, keeping it off the books.

The license plate renewal sticker reflected the current year, which led him to believe his mother had a junker in storage somewhere and kept its registration current for the express purpose of getting an updated renewal sticker. As long as he didn’t give the police a reason to run these plates, they should be fine.

He removed a black nylon duffel bag, containing the countersurveillance kit and his mother’s waterproof pouch, from the trunk and locked the car before heading to the apartment. Devin caught some movement through the ground-floor apartment windows as they approached the stoop. Berg must have noticed it, too.

“My name’s Fred,” said Berg. “For their safety and ours.”

“Fred doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

When he got to the door, he started trying the keys, while Berg watched the street for signs of trouble. The keys hadn’t been marked, so he had no idea which one went to which door. The first one didn’t fit. Neither did the second. The door opened before he tried the third, startling him enough that he dropped the key chain. An elderly Black woman with white hair appeared in the open doorway. She looked around eighty years old, but stood like she was in her early fifties.

“Oh my god. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said.

Devin scooped up the keys. “Just caught me off guard, ma’am.”

“You must be Helen’s boy, Devin,” she said, glancing between him and Berg.

“I am,” said Devin, giving her a puzzled look. “This is Fred. A friend of the family.”

“I’m Henrietta Silver. I live on the first floor with my son and daughter-in-law. My granddaughter lives on the second floor with my great-grandson, who’s at Johns Hopkins on a full scholarship. Pre-med,” she said.

“Must be a sharp young man,” he said. “I didn’t even bother applying to Hopkins. I considered myself lucky to get into Maryland.”

“He is a very sharp young man,” said Henrietta, smiling warmly. “You look just like your mother. Sound like her, too.”

He swallowed hard and nodded, worried that his voice would crack if he answered. He wasn’t able to hide the tears.

Henrietta’s smile faded into a mournful, sympathetic look. “I assume something happened to your Helen?”

“She passed away about a week ago,” said Devin. “Unexpectedly.”