I took her in my arms. “This is a blow, love,” I said. “But we’ll tell Tvist about the house church, and maybe he’ll turn something up.”

Thirteen

My brother Dan came for the memorial service. I was late to the airport. He was standing there, alone in a black suit, hair cropped close, a tan leather bag slung across his shoulder, coffee in hand.

“The traffic,” I said. “Sorry.”

“Christ, man, don’t be daft. I would have met you at the kirk. C’mere.” He dropped his bag to the ground, bear-hugged me. Always the older brother, though there was only a year between us.

There was whisky on his breath. I stepped back. A tracery of red veins in the whites of his eyes.

“You didn’t sleep on the flight,” I said. “Did you?”

“Wrong way around, pal.” He laughed, shook his head. “You don’t get to worry about me.” His eyes were searching my face, all brotherly concern.

“We’re getting by,” I said.

“Right. Yeah.” He exhaled heavily. There was something more than concern in his eyes. Something more like grief. He ran the palm of his right hand across his right eye, blinked hard. “The station are being understanding,” he said. “So’s Daisy. She wanted us all to be here, but we didn’t feel we could take Lyndon out of school.”

“Dan, the official line is that Licia’s coming back. Great if Vee could hear that from you as well as us.”

“Aye. Sure.” He nodded, swallowed. “What’s your instinct, Cal?”

“My instinct is she’s coming back.”

He was searching my eyes. Perhaps he heard the catch in my voice.

Brake lights in front flashed twice. I cut and swerved to the inside lane, swore under my breath. I felt my seat belt jam. We came to a stop.

“Hate it when that happens. You okay?”

“Are you?” said Dan.

My phone began to ring. I checked the mirror. Gridlock in front. Gridlock behind. I unclipped and unjammed my seat belt, let it flow back into the reel, reattached it. Dan did the same.

I answered the phone hands-free.

That rich voice filled the car. “Cal Curtis? It’s Ephraim Tvist.”

I felt my brother’s eyes on me.

“Hello,” I said.

I heard Tvist say, “A girl matching your daughter’s description . . .” I felt my muscles tense against the news I was sure was to come. Licia’s body, borne by the currents . . . I avoided my brother’s eye.

“A girl matching Licia’s description?”

“Saved the life of a young boy. Got him out of the woods and into the water. While she was in the woods she appears to have jettisoned an ammunition box along with the silver bracelet. I thought you’d want to know. Cal, the men ran out of bullets. When my tactical unit arrived they offered no resistance. It seems your daughter may have shortened the massacre.”