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Chapters (109)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Praise for Tim Weaver
  4. Dedication
  5. Part One
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. Joline
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. The Motel
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. Part Two
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. Caraca
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. Late-Night Call
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. Pioneer
  32. Part Three
  33. 21
  34. 22
  35. 23
  36. The Suicide: Part 1
  37. 24
  38. 25
  39. 26
  40. The Suicide: Part 2
  41. 27
  42. 28
  43. 29
  44. Clear: Part 1
  45. 30
  46. 31
  47. Clear: Part 2
  48. Part Four
  49. 32
  50. 33
  51. 34
  52. Monster
  53. 35
  54. 36
  55. 37
  56. Martina: Part 1
  57. Part Five
  58. 38
  59. 39
  60. 40
  61. Martina: Part 2
  62. 41
  63. 42
  64. 43
  65. Dead Ends
  66. 44
  67. Part Six
  68. 45
  69. 46
  70. 47
  71. The Photograph Album
  72. 48
  73. 49
  74. 50
  75. Empty
  76. Part Seven
  77. 51
  78. 52
  79. Retirement: Part 1
  80. 53
  81. 54
  82. 55
  83. 56
  84. Retirement: Part 2
  85. 57
  86. Part Eight
  87. 58
  88. 59
  89. 60
  90. 61
  91. 62
  92. Circle
  93. 63
  94. 64
  95. 65
  96. 66
  97. An Ending
  98. 67
  99. 68
  100. Part Nine
  101. 69
  102. Family
  103. 70
  104. Part Ten
  105. 71
  106. 72
  107. Author’s Note
  108. Acknowledgements
  109. THE BEGINNING

‘But there’s something else I’m going to try and do first.’

The Photograph Album

1993

Los Angeles | Wednesday 19 May

‘Detective Kader? Are you okay?’

Jo didn’t hear the voice to start with.

She was miles away, watching cars pass on Temple Street, three floors below, the sun winking off their roofs as they moved between the dual shadows of City Hall and the Federal Courthouse. After fifteen years as a detective, she’d been back and forth to Downtown so many times, to the DA’s office here, to the Halls of Justice, out to the county jail and Twin Towers Correctional Facility, she could probably make the drive blindfolded.

‘Detective Kader?’

Opposite her, a woman in her late thirties leaned forward in her chair, and Jo remembered where she was and what they’d been doing before she’d drifted off. On the desk, next to a PC, was a nameplate: DR LEILA BARNES, EMPLOYEE SUPPORT SERVICES UNIT.

‘Are you okay, Detective Kader?’

‘Sorry,’ Jo said, and held up an apologetic hand.

‘I was asking about your son.’

‘Right.’

‘How’s he doing?’

‘He’s doing fine. He’s in fourth grade now.’

‘So he’s – what? – nine years old?’

‘Correct.’

‘It won’t be long before he’s off to middle school.’

‘And then he’ll be a teenager and I’ll officially have to sacrifice my sanity.’ Jo smiled. ‘No, Ethan’s a good kid.’ She felt something flutter in her throat, like a filament about to burn out. ‘Have you got children, Dr Barnes?’

‘One. A daughter. She’s three.’

‘Well, enjoy it. The time goes by so fast.’

Barnes nodded. ‘Do you enjoy it?’

‘Of course. I love being a mom.’

‘I sense a “but”?’

‘No buts.’ Jo shrugged. ‘Or maybe one. With the job that I do, sometimes it can be hard to find an equilibrium.’ She glanced out of the window again. ‘What if, huh?’

Barnes frowned. ‘What if?’

‘What if I’d made different choices?’

‘From looking at your file, your choices seem pretty good.’

‘They were choices,’ Jo replied. ‘I don’t know if they were good.’

She looked at Barnes and knew what the psychologist was seeing: the hint of something in Jo’s face – monochrome where it should have been colour.

Barnes said, ‘You told me in our last session that perhaps one day you might like to teach.’ She flipped through the pages of her pad. ‘Does that still interest you?’

‘Maybe. Lecturing, that sort of thing.’

Barnes nodded. ‘Do you think you would miss being a cop?’