After the longest of pauses the journalist said, “Viktoria, that was amazing. I’ve cut.” She stood up, turned off the camera, slid out the memory card, and placed it in a small metal holder.

Dan crossed the floor to the table and crouched in front of us, eyes shining. “That, people, was the one.”

The journalist was at Dan’s side, crouching down.

“Viktoria, that was very moving. People will share what you said.” She turned to me. “Mr. Curtis, may I ask you a question off the record?”

“Sure.” I got to my feet.

“Okay. Would you wish Alicia had her gun with her during the events on the island?”

Elsa raised an eyebrow. Vee looked as if the someone had slapped her across the thigh.

I looked at the journalist. She was serious. I laughed. “What a strangely American thing to ask.”

“This in no way affects the way we will present your case,” said the journalist. “It’s just a question that’s been troubling me these last few days. I can’t quite pray it away.” She smiled a self-deprecating smile, then produced a photo, which she handed to me. “Someone at the station found this. It’s being widely shared.”

The picture showed Licia, wearing ear protectors and clear plastic glasses, her stance upright and confident, her shoulders locked. Her right forefinger curled around the trigger of a heavy black pistol, the fingers of her left hand bracing her trigger hand, her right eye half-closed. Vee looked furtively at the image, then away, as if she didn’t want me to read her reaction.

“This has to be a fake,” I said. “Right?”

Elsa nodded. Vee avoided my gaze.

“Okay,” said the journalist. “Sure.” I could see there was more she wanted to say about the picture. Instead she said, “The interview will be up on the website by seven. I hope it will make a difference. And—again, personally—please know that your family, and most especially your adorable blond children, will be in my prayers over the coming days.”

“You’re praying for us?” said Vee. “Wow.”

“I have been. I will continue.”

Vee smiled, a little uncertain.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m strangely comforted by the thought of your praying for us.”

She smiled and embraced me very warmly. “And that is the wonderful thing about the power of prayer, Mr. Curtis.”

“That picture, Vee,” I said, as the journalist was packing away her things.

“Yeah, honey,” said Elsa. “What was that?”

Vee swallowed hard. “So, the picture’s not a fake.”

I took out the photo again. “It isn’t?”

How confident Licia looked in the picture. Lithe and alert.

Vee said, “You know when you and Mum were at the modern art museum, and we said we would go to the aquarium?”

“Virginia Beach,” I said.

“Yeah. Licia got ID and we went to the range.”

“Damn,” said Elsa, almost admiringly.