The handgrip was textured, the trigger guard square. I leaned in. Engraved into the gunmetal were the words Glock 17 Gen4 AUSTRIA.

Vee’s face was flushed, her eyes electric with excitement. “Aren’t you even going to pick it up?”

I shook my head. “Vee, I’m sorry.”

I could feel her disappointment. This was not the response she wanted.

“Why?”

“We are not providing the stability you need.”

“Did you know she had this, though?”

“It’s not a complete surprise.”

I began to fold the corners of the cloth back over the body of the pistol.

“Dad, is Mum having some kind of breakdown?”

I laughed. “Your mother is the sanest person I know.”

She looked at me, unconvinced. She made to say something. She stopped.

“What is it, Vee?”

“There’s another thing. Only now I don’t know if you’ll be interested.”

“Is this other thing also about Mum?” I said.

“No.”

“All right, then. What sort of a thing is it?”

“A story. One nobody else has.”

She left the room and returned with an iPad.

“Vee,” I said, “where is this from?”

“I promised not to say.”

“Vee—”

“You can take it to the police if you like, Dad. But please watch what’s on it first.”

Twenty-Nine

It began like a feature film, though there was no sound. The camera skimmed the glassy fjord, raised up as it came to the island, followed the path from the boat dock up to the clearing. It hung suspended, looking down at the main house, at the bodies that lay strewn on the sun-scorched grass beyond.

Children. Other people’s children. You could almost imagine they were sleeping.

I reached across, pressed pause, turned the iPad on its front.

“Okay,” I said. “Vee, I want you to go to bed.”

Vee met my eye. “I already watched it, Dad. Twice. It’s not like I’m going to sleep better if I go to bed now. But if that’s what you want . . .”

I pushed the tips of my fingers together, tapped both index fingers against the tip of my nose, breathed out heavily. I turned the iPad over. Vee pressed play.

Even in close-up, the camera held steady. Now it followed a dark-haired boy as he ran along a path, panning and tilting with him. So close. You could see his eyes, read the fear in them, see patches of sweat around the collar of his T-shirt. The camera watched as he left the path, made his way into a wooden cabin.

The cabin was one of many. The helicopter stayed in position for what must have been about a minute. The shot held wide, staring down. In that time you saw another boy, then two girls, each running to a different cabin. The camera tilted up, zoomed in to a path, found a man in police uniform.

The tall brother. John Andersen. Carrying a pistol. The merest hint of a smile.