At 6:34 P.M., Forbes heard the car approach followed by the sound of tires crunching on the house’s driveway. He tucked his book into his jacket pocket, slipped on a pair of gloves, and pulled the knife from the sheath clipped to his belt.

He calmly rose from the chair and strolled into the kitchen to the spot he had chosen behind the back door. Through the translucent window shade, he saw the solitary figure approach. He heard a key rattle inside the lock. The bolt turned. The door opened. He pressed flatter against the wall, as the door’s edge swung within an inch of the toes of his shoes.

Before she had even walked through the doorway, she called out: “Malcolm.” And then she clicked her tongue encouragingly. “Come on, Malcolm.”

For a split second, Forbes felt apprehensive. Then he remembered the smell of cat litter from the bathroom and realized she was calling the cat that he’d yet to encounter in her house.

“Even you’ve given up on me, huh, Malcolm?” she sighed, as she walked in and closed the door behind her.

With the knife dangling at his side Forbes stepped forward and said, “Dr. Horton?”

Horton gasped in surprise. Spinning to face him, she lost her balance. She had to grab the countertop beside her to steady herself. Her hands trembled and her eyes went wide.

“What do you want?”

“To talk,” Forbes said quietly.

Horton backed up until she banged into the cupboard behind her, which sent the plates inside rattling. “Why the knife?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Forbes glanced down at his hand. “I don’t want you to leave unexpectedly.”

Horton took several slow breaths. “I’ve got money in my bedroom. And some jewelry. It’s not worth much, but—”

He waved his palm slightly in front of him and smiled. “Don’t worry, Dr. Horton. I’m not going to take your money or your jewelry.”

“What, then?” she asked weakly, still leaning against the cupboard.

“How about a drink?” He pointed to the small round kitchen table where, apart from a notepad and pen, the bottle of red wine he’d uncorked earlier stood beside a solitary wineglass.

Horton shook her head wildly. “I don’t want a drink.”

Forbes smiled and nodded understandingly. “I think it might be a good idea, Dr. Horton.”

Her eyes darted around the room. “How do you know my name?”

He smiled again. “It’s what I do.”

Suddenly her eyes locked onto his. “What do you do?” Her tone verged on pleading.

“I clean up other people’s messes,” he said evenly.

Her face creased. “Whose mess am I?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “I really don’t know,” he answered. “I’m hired strictly on a need-to-know basis.”