I said, “There is a figure in gray in the Garden Island footage. When Paul Andersen shoots the man in the T-shirt.”

“I wish you had a little more faith. These days my people are very thorough.”

“Your people enlarged past it. You don’t see it in the version shown to the courtroom. So either your people are investigating him and don’t want him to know—in which case why don’t you know that?—or someone is protecting him.”

“Why the urgency? Can this wait until morning?”

“I realize it’s inhumanly late,” I said. “And maybe you’ll tell me it isn’t him. But it’s got to be worth checking out, no? Just to eliminate him?”

“It is him, Dad,” said Vee. “Any money you like.”

“Is that Viktoria’s voice I hear?”

“Vee found it,” I said. “Seven frames. Maybe eight. A third of a second. You don’t see it if you’re not looking for it.”

“Then why don’t you send me the frames in question? With timings from the start of the shot?” We were trying his patience. I could hear it.

“Thanks,” I said. “Has to be worth checking out.”

“What are you doing?” Licia’s voice, clear and bright.

I turned.

She was standing in the library, looking in. “Who’s Bror?”

“Go to bed, Licia,” said Vee loudly.

“I have to go,” I said to Tvist.

“Then we shall speak in the morning, when we’ve both had a chance to reflect.”

“Talk then.” I hung up.

I looked at my daughters. If Tvist had heard Vee call Licia by her name, he had given no sign of it.

“Who is Bror?” said Licia again.

“This doesn’t really concern you,” said Vee. “Although, also, how can you not know?”

I could see Licia’s face beginning to crumple.

“Oh, Vee,” I said. “Please . . .”

“But Dad, I’m really not saying she’s stupid.”

“Vee . . .”

This time she heard the warning note in my voice.

“I’m very sorry, Licia. I wasn’t implying anything. I won’t do it again.”

“Okay,” said Licia as brightly as she could. “Good night, then.”

Vee watched her go. “You know what’s weird, Dad? I mean, even if she was locked away for a year, wouldn’t you think Licia of all people would know exactly who Bror is?”

Thirty-Eight

I couldn’t sleep for thoughts of him. How easily he had attached himself to our lives, with his talk of heroism and the life well lived. How carefully he shielded his inner core. We knew nothing of what he actually believed. A compliment here, a deflection there, as his agile mind gently kept us at bay, all the while telling us we were close.

Had Bror been there on the island? And what did he want with my family?