It looks like she doesn’t want to sit down until we do, so I lower myself into an armchair. The cushions are so soft they threaten to swallow me. Thistle sits on a nearby chair. Gabriela descends back to the couch. Hope lingers in the doorway.

It’s hard to decide which angle to target first. ‘What was Kenneth’s mental state like in the last few weeks?’ I ask.

‘Good,’ Gabriela said quickly.

I wait.

‘He had suffered from depression in the past,’ she finally admits. ‘But not lately. He had been happy. Like he had much to look forward to.’

Hope nods, confirming this.

‘Okay. How does he usually spend his free time?’

‘He works a lot,’ Gabriela says. ‘Even when he is at home, he is usually reading scholarly papers on the internet.’

‘What about on weekends? Does he go camping, or hiking? I know someone else in his office is a skier.’

‘You mean Shannon? Kenneth is fond of Shannon. I think it was his endorsement that got Shannon the job.’

I resist the urge to glance at Thistle. Luxford is a bad guy. If Biggs liked him, that could make Biggs a bad guy too. At best, he’s oblivious.

‘But they never went skiing together,’ Gabriela continues. ‘My husband, he is not very … outdoorsy.’

‘How much cash did he usually carry?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Not very much. A hundred dollars? Perhaps two hundred?’

Strange to think of a world where that’s not much money. But it puts the ATM withdrawal in context. Definitely not run-away money.

But if he had two hundred on him already, and withdrew two hundred more, that would be suspect. I’ll have to ask Thistle when he made his second-last withdrawal.

‘Does he own a gun?’ I ask.

Gabriela stiffens. ‘He has a permit for it.’

‘A hunting rifle?’

‘No. A handgun. He has never fired it. I would like to get rid of it, except they are hard to dispose of safely, and …’ She gestures at the TV, looking tormented. ‘Every night there is a story about a home invasion or a kidnapping. I wanted to install a panic room, but we couldn’t get approval for the renovations. The building’s management is very strict.’

It’s hard to blame her. My parents were killed by a would-be burglar, and I nearly was too. It’s not as common as the news makes it seem, but it does happen.

‘Anyway,’ she finishes, ‘Kenneth does not go hunting.’

Hope turns, walks away towards what I guess is the kitchen. As she passes me, some of her hair shifts and I get a better look at the bald patch on the back of her head.

It’s scar tissue. It looks to me like an exit wound.