Clarisse shivered, and the ripple of movement through her large frame looked like quicksilver. “I went to school out in the county. Bussed out there to one of the Parkway schools; I won’t say which one because I don’t want you getting any ideas. But there was a boy like that. Richard Baker. He liked to take girls back to the big house his parents had. Especially city girls like me.”

The light ahead flicked green.

“He wanted to wow us. But it was more than that. He liked to ask about our houses. Just wanted to know what it was like. His eyes would get all soft and bright like he might cry. But you knew what he was doing. I knew. Even if I couldn’t put it into words.”

Behind them, a horn honked. North said, “Light’s green.”

“What happened to Richard Baker?” Shaw asked.

“He owns two sporting goods stores,” Clarisse said. “He used to go back to school and tell stories about us, about the stupid city girls. He made it sound like we’d never seen a commode indoors or hot water.”

“There are a lot of Richard Bakers out there,” Shaw said.

The horn blared again. North rolled down his window, stuck out his head, and shouted, “Go the fuck around or I’ll rip the steering wheel out of your fucking hands.”

A powder-blue VW Bug skated around them, the ancient driver clutching the wheel as though North might really carry out his threat.

“I guess I owe Richard Baker something,” Clarisse said, and she swung into a U-turn.

She drove them to Clayton, to a high-rise of mirrored glass and steel. At the end of the October day, lit up at the corners, it looked like an edifice out of some dark future, something Ridley Scott might have imagined.

“His name was Stefan,” Clarisse told them as she let them out. “That’s all they give us.”

“That’s great,” Shaw said as he squirmed out of the car.

“Thanks,” North said.

It was a nice high-rise. It had solid security: two locked doors, with a vestibule between them just in case one lock broke or didn’t catch. It would probably have been a bitch to break into, but of course, it had the same flaw every security building had.

North mashed the intercom buttons, announcing UPS every time a voice answered, and eventually the doors buzzed and they hustled into the lobby.

The mailroom had a deadbolt that hadn’t been set. Shaw rolled his eyes. North felt a grin forming.

They checked the names on every mailbox.

“S. Jeppesen,” Shaw announced. “And S. Igwe, but none of our boys last night looked like an Igwe.”

“I’ve got nothing.”

“They were younger than us.”

North nodded, pulling out his phone.

“Kind of reminded me of—”

“If you say Tuck, I’ll give you a charleyhorse.”

“I was going to say Pratt.”