Vee was pulling her coat tight around herself, walking toward me across the snow. I waved. Vee waved back. Tvist watched her, that same sad smile playing across his lips.

“So is it true,” I said, “that you had the Andersens’ license plate, and that you took no action?”

“That was an abrupt and rather journalistic turn.”

“And you don’t much like journalists?”

He considered this. “You feel let down. When you experience a loss of this magnitude, you look around you for someone to blame.”

“There you go,” I said. “Deflecting a question . . .”

He shrugged, smiled, took a slug of coffee, smiled again.

Always that same smile.

I took from my pocket the color copy of the Post-it note.

Tvist glanced at it, handed it back. “How useful it must be,” he said, “to have a friend in the police.” There was no hint of warmth in his smile now.

“That is not how I came by it,” I said.

“And yet there is no other possible source.” He crouched down, picked up the last of the coffee cups. When he stood up, his dark, dark eyes were so close to mine that I could not bring them into focus. He smelled of lip balm and expensive cologne.

“Nothing personal, Cal, but perhaps you should not be so seduced by other people’s agendas.” And with that he was walking away.

I looked across at the Andersen brothers. The two men were staring at Bror and at Elsa. John Andersen was whispering in his brother’s ear. I could see in Elsa’s face that she sensed them looking. I could feel her unease.

“Dad.”

Vee crossed elegantly beneath the rope in a single fluid move.

I stepped toward her. “Hey, Vee.” I reached out, drew her to me.

Vee turned in my arms, looked toward her mother. Bror was smiling at Elsa, all charm, arms thrown wide, shielding her from the gazes of the Andersen brothers.

“So, that guy Bror . . .” I said to Vee.

“Yeah, why is Mum pushing me toward him?”

“Is she?”

Vee’s eyes narrowed. “What did you arrange?”

“Why would you think we arranged something?”

“You raised me cynical. Suddenly I’m supposed to be, Ooh, breathing techniques?”

“Look how he’s helping Arno. You see that, right?”

“I guess . . .”

“Would it hurt to be a little happier?”

Vee rolled her eyes. “Can I please go for a walk? There’s literally nothing to do here.”

I looked at the chairs, at the ropes, at the court officials, at the armed police. What harm could it do?

“Sure, love. Go for your walk.”

Paul and John Andersen stood where they were, watching my daughter go. They turned to each other and laughed. Then John Andersen made a gun of his fingers and sighted up on Vee.