Joseph walks over and starts telling her about the stats of the guy in the photo. I use the opportunity to slip back into the corridor, looking for places Shannon might be hiding.

I check the bathroom first. Only two towels on the rack, both dry. Just two toothbrushes. Lots of make-up stuff, but nothing fancy. Mostly foundation, blush and eyeshadow. No eyeliner, lipstick or mascara.

It’s the kind of make-up cabinet a woman might have if she’s used to hiding bruises.

Uneasily, I check the master bedroom. King-size bed, two bedside tables, rows of suits and dresses hanging in the walk-in. Nothing suspicious.

The last remaining room is locked from the outside with a bolt. I quietly slide it back and open the door a crack. This room has a single bed, neatly made, and not much else. Old mystery novels line the shelves. I check under the bed. Nothing. There’s a bedside table. In the drawer I find a Bible, like at a motel.

Whose room is this? And why would it have a lock on the outside?

‘Please.’

I whirl around. Francine is standing right behind me. I get a whiff of her rose perfume.

‘Will you please just leave?’ she whispers.

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 22

One door leads to death, the other to freedom. One guard always tells the truth, the other always lies. You get one question. What do you ask?

‘You think Joseph is abusing Francine?’ Thistle asks.

‘I think there’s a ninety per cent chance that’s what’s happening,’ I say. ‘It looked like a time-out space. Like somewhere he would put her when she disobeyed.’

Thistle glances in the rear-view mirror at the shrinking house. ‘They could be in a consensual BDSM relationship.’

‘There would have been other signs. Handcuffs in the dresser, or a paddle under the bed.’

As I talk, I’m going through sixteen fat files about the other missing men. Learning about their jobs, their families, their friends, the jobs of their family and friends … Speed-reading isn’t always good for comprehension, but it’s useful for spotting connections. It brings all the facts closer together.

So far, though, all I’ve noticed is that none are married, which makes sense, given that they all used the same dating app, nTangle.

Thistle’s voice is grim: ‘Do you think Shannon knows?’

‘That lock looked like it had been there a long time. He knows.’

‘If I were to ask the Houston PD to investigate, not much will happen. Not without more evidence. But I’ll file a report anyway. Any sign of Shannon?’

‘None,’ I say. ‘And neither parent seemed nervous enough to be hiding a fugitive, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘I would.’ Thistle takes the exit off the loop back towards the FBI. ‘How did you know about the IVF?’