“A lot of talk, maybe?”

Allie folded her arms, considered me. “Like I said, she went on trial for murder. For terrorism. Acquitted, but still … And she had followers. May still have followers. Like a cult. Even people, from what I could tell, who might not like someone digging into their private business.”

I considered that, nodded. “Got it. Thanks again.” Wanted to leave it at that. Tried to put on a poker face.

But I was stunned. I hadn’t known. Hadn’t guessed. Because the hummingbird was so beautiful.

Terrorist? Murderer?

“Should I send flowers?” Allie was still standing there.

“What?” I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic.

“To the family.”

“Why?”

“Because. She’s dead. Recently.”

That came crashing through.

But why did it hurt? Hadn’t the note told me that? Hadn’t Silvina herself told me, in her way? Yet, somehow, I’d thought the task would be finding Silvina. Literally finding her. Not tracking her ghost.

“And there’s this,” Allie said, handing me a black-and-white photograph of a man standing on the bow of a yacht. He had a kind of weird bowl-cut for his dull brown hair, clean-shaven, and had a hooded look about the eyes and a small nose. Wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt with a flower design, cargo shorts. Prominent gold chain around his neck. Something in the thin mouth, the curl of lip, made me dislike him. If not for the clothes, he would’ve had a chameleon-like look. You might not notice him in a crowd.

“Who’s this?”

“Ben Langer.”

“Am I supposed to know who he is?”

“You always talk about ‘the credible threat.’ About ‘collateral circles.’ Well, this name kept coming up. Ben Langer. Works for an import-export company that Silvina tied to wildlife trafficking. Also has a hand in illicit biotech and drugs. Langer might be doing the dirty work for that organization.”

“Good point,” I said.

“Langer is an opportunist of the worst kind. A sociopath at best.”

That seemed like belaboring the good point. Half our clients were sociopaths.

“And?”

“What I mean is: Silvina’s friends are dangerous. Silvina’s enemies are dangerous. This whole thing is fraught.”

“Fair assessment,” I said.

I set the photo down on my desk. Wanted to turn it over, but resisted the impulse.

“That’s that, then, right?” Allie asked, arms still crossed.

Projecting irritation. But unsettled underneath, the irritation for putting her in a bad mental space. Crime was meant to be invisible in our systems.

Should I stop? It seemed antiseptic to me. We were just gathering data. Passively. Not interviewing past associates. Not being obvious. So I felt confident in my answer.

“Keep digging,” I said. “It’s low-risk. This is all information on the surface.”

“Keep digging,” she said, in a flat voice. “You want me to keep … digging.”

“Yes. Keep at it. There must be more than a photo and”—I flicked through the folder—“a paltry dozen pages of information.”

Allie said nothing.