“—dark, thank you.” He looked closer at the photo, uncomfortably aware of the girl’s gun so close beside him. The picture showed three people, a man and a woman with a little girl between them, no more than three or four years old. Behind them was a great glass building, and Marcus realized with a start that the sign on the side of it said PARAGEN. He opened his mouth to comment on this, but realized with another shock that the woman in the picture was someone he’d known for years.

“That’s Nandita.”

“Nandita Merchant,” said the girl. She flicked off the light. “I don’t suppose you know where she is?”

Marcus turned back to face her, still trying to figure out what was going on. “Nobody’s seen Nandita in months,” he said. “This is her house, but . . . she used to go out on salvage runs and stuff all the time, looking for herbs for her garden, and the last time she went out, she never came back.” He looked at the picture again, then back at the girl. “Are you with Mkele? Or forget who you’re with, who are you? How do you know who I am?”

“We’ve met,” she said, “but you don’t remember. I’m very hard to see if I don’t want to be.”

“I’m getting that impression,” said Marcus. “I’m also getting the impression that you’re not exactly the East Meadow police. Why are you looking for her?”

The girl smiled, sly and mischievous. “Because she’s missing.”

“I suppose I walked into that one,” said Marcus, suddenly aware of how attractive this girl was. “Let me rephrase: Why do you need to find her?”

The girl flicked on the flashlight again, first blinding Marcus and then angling it away toward the photo in his hand. He looked at it again.

“Look closely,” said the girl. “Do you recognize her?”

“It’s Nandita Merchant,” said Marcus. “I already—”

“Not her,” said the girl. “The child standing next to her.”

Marcus looked again, holding the image close, peering intently at the little girl in the center. Her skin was light brown, her pigtails dark as coal, her eyes bright and curious. She wore a brightly colored dress, the kind a little girl would wear to a park on a summer day. The kind he hadn’t seen in twelve years. She looked happy, and innocent, and her face was slightly scrunched as she squinted one eye against the sun.

There was something familiar about that squint. . . .