“How do you know that?”

Again he charges at me with full force. “My daughter told me. That’s how.”

“All right,” I say, wondering why he didn’t mention it at the cabin when Montrose and I were first there. Mr. Flynn doesn’t seem to be the type to hold back. “When did she tell you this? What else did she say?”

I want to point out that if Adam had an affair, it doesn’t mean that he is a killer. If all men who had affairs were killers, our prisons would need to be run like timeshares.

Frank Flynn does a little backpedaling, a move that I’m sure is almost foreign to him. “Sophie never came out directly and said it to me,” he says. “She was too proud for that. My girl was never one to give me or her mother any cause for worry. There was something going on with her and her husband.” He stops for a beat. “You should talk to Janna Fong, her best friend at Starbucks. I bet she knows a whole lot. I’ve got her number right here.”

I take down Janna Fong’s information and tell him I’ll look into it, but it’s more out of courtesy to a man who’s just lost his daughter than because it’s a real lead. I know better than to remind Frank of the witness to the struggle on the beach. He’d just say the old man was blind, or had just seen Adam’s accomplice doing the dirty work. There’s not much more I can do until I get the autopsy results anyway.

“I’ll call Janna,” I finally say.

“She lives in Tacoma now,” he says. “Got married last summer. Nice guy, I’m told. Not like my son-in-law. That’s for sure.”

Montrose is off with his kids on the peninsula for the holiday, and it’s quiet in the office. I reach Janna Fong after a couple of tries. She’s already heard the devastating news about Sophie and is eager to help in the investigation.

“In any way that I can,” she says, her words coming into my ear so quietly that it’s almost like a whisper.

I tell her that I’ll come to Tacoma.

“If you’re home,” I say.

“Yes,” she says, giving me the address. “I’m here all day. I’m not doing anything. Husband has to work, which is fine. We need the extra money. Please come. Sophie was my friend. I can’t believe this has happened.”

Janna Fong greets me at the door of her beautifully remodeled Victorian in tree-lined North Tacoma. She wears her black hair in a loose bun, and her neck is adorned with a thin strand of coral beads. I notice her very obvious baby bump, and I give her a smile.

“Two more months,” she says. “Feels like two more years. Do you have any kids?”

I shake my head. “No. Someday, I hope.” I do.