“I’m sure. Even if I wasn’t sure, I’d know this is the place we’re looking for simply because it’s not here any more, and of course it wouldn’t be here any more, because that’s how life works. Just when you think it couldn’t possibly suck any more than it already sucks, it burns down the goddamn house.”

“Oh, that house didn’t burn down,” said an old woman, passing. “It was demolished years ago.”

Temper gave the old woman a smile. “You live near here?”

“I live right here,” the woman said, pointing a pale, knobbly finger at the house next door. “Do you know them, then?”

“Who, Richard and Savant?” Temper asked. “We do. In fact, we’re trying to find them. You wouldn’t happen to know where they moved on to, do you?”

“Maryland or Maine, somewhere like that, I think. After they were gone, squatters moved in and let the house fall into disrepair, and then the bulldozers came and flattened the whole thing. How are they doing, do you know? They were such lovely neighbours.”

“They’re fine,” Temper assured her. “We just lost touch. We were hoping to find some clue as to where they might be living now, maybe track down some of their friends – but obviously that’s not going to happen.”

“I guess not,” said the old woman. “But you could always check their things.”

Valkyrie frowned. “What things?”

“Their possessions,” the old woman said. “I went in there and packed up as much of their stuff as I could fit into their suitcases. The squatters were nice enough, I guess, but they didn’t respect other people’s property as much as they should have.”

“Can we see it?” Valkyrie asked. “Can we look through the suitcases?”

“If you’re friends of Richard and Savant, I don’t see why not.” She led the way to her house. “That’s a nice accent you’ve got, by the way. Irish, is it? My grandmother was Irish. I was named after her. Bridget.”

“I’m Valkyrie. This is Temper, Omen and Never.”

Bridget beamed. “What delightful names! Your parents must have been hippies. We get that a lot around here. Come on in. Wipe your feet.”

She took them into the back room of her warm house, which smelled of old people and cookies. Three suitcases were stacked in a wardrobe so big it could have opened up into Narnia. The case Temper searched contained nothing but clothes, but the cases that Valkyrie, Omen and Never looked through were full of papers and notebooks and pictures.

Never examined a framed photograph of two handsome, smiling men. “Which is which?” he asked.

Temper reached over, tapped the image of the slightly better-looking one. “Savant,” he said.