Brown cloth sofa and matching love seat in the living room, cheap bamboo tables, framed generic photographs of trees, lakes, foxes, owls, eagles. A cinder-block-and-glass-shelf bookcase housed architecture texts and a few large-format paperbacks. Population control, biodiversity, tropical reforestry, renewable fuels.

Plastic-wrapped six-packs of generic springwater filled the upper shelf of the low-profile fridge. Three bottles of Corona below, along with unopened salad bags and a vacuum-wrapped package of organic trout. The fake-granite counter of the mini-kitchen held a coffeemaker, a juicer, knives in a block, yesterday’s paper, still folded and rubber-banded.

No disorder, no obvious blood. No woman’s presence.

Same for the puny, dim bedroom nearly filled by a king-sized bed in a black wood frame. A single high window framed the blue flank of the building next door. A birch cube nightstand hosted a gooseneck lamp, a box of tissues, two more books on forestry. No dresser, but part of the closet was sectioned into drawers. Not a lot of clothes, but what was there was high quality. Two cashmere sweaters, navy and chocolate brown, same style as the black one worn by Backer on his last breathing night. Italian loafers and a pair of New Balance running shoes.

Milo inspected the soles of the runners. “Sand in the grooves, probably jogged on the beach.”

A you-build desk next to the closet hosted a silver iMac and a second adjustable lamp. In a top drawer, Milo found condoms, boxes of them, in a variety of brands, styles, and colors. Below all that, several pages printed from the Internet. Straight sex, athletic positions, women in ecstasy, genuine or not, nothing cruel or outré.

I said, “He practiced safe sex but left semen on Jane’s thigh and no condoms at the scene.”

Milo scratched his nose. “Maybe a box of rubbers was another take-home goodie for Baddie.”

“Jane’s purse, whatever bedding Backer brought, the BMW,” I said. “Interesting haul.”

He got down and peered under the bed.

I said, “Catching Backer in the act of unpeeling a condom would be a perfect time to make your move.”

“Zoned out, off-guard, off-balance,” he said. “Here comes the big death.”

“The alternative is, Backer didn’t glove up with Jane because he did have something special with her.”

He thought about that, returned to the closet, checked a high shelf, then the floor beneath some long coats. Slid out a box. Drawing pads, pencils, erasers, pens, last year’s tax return, a few credit card bills, cell phone records, loose photos.

Milo examined the receipts first. “Not much activity last month … talking to someone in Washington State … four times—and here’s our tyke, again.”

Unfolding four snaps in plastic holders.

Solo portraits of “Samantha” except for one shot in which the child appeared on the lap of a good-looking woman in her thirties. Next to her a large-jawed, bespectacled blond man and a golden retriever. Decorated Christmas tree in the background, everyone in matching reindeer sweaters.