It was also hugely invasive. Ritchie had photographed the two of them inside her house. He’d crept up to the window like a voyeur and snapped shots into her darkened living room. She saw the two of them snuggled together on her sofa. Justin clowning with Harley Mannequin. Herself, laughing, with her hands over her ears, as he made her listen to a Strauss opera. They were moments frozen into her memory, but she felt cheated now, realizing she had shared them with someone else. Someone who was watching their every move.

She clicked through the rest of the photographs. Justin had successfully kept one aspect of his life secret. There were no pictures of his safe house. There was nothing to suggest that Ritchie knew where this house was, which meant that he hadn’t been the one to search it. She wondered how Justin had concealed the location; he’d obviously come here often, and yet somehow he’d made sure that he wasn’t followed. That was one advantage of being paranoid. You took precautions.

And yet everywhere else Justin had been, Curtis Ritchie had been there, too. She flipped forward and backward, going faster and faster, hypnotized by everything she saw. For a few brief moments, Justin was alive again.

Justin in Starbucks.

Justin in the produce aisle at Publix.

Justin on the sponge docks in Tarpon Springs.

Justin in Starbucks again.

Justin in Lake Wales. She recognized the environs. Ritchie had followed Justin on the secret trip he made to Lake Wales without her. She saw him at the library. At the Bok Sanctuary. Out on a deserted stretch of highway. Walking out of Dr Smeltz’s office with a backpack slung over his arm.

The next photograph showed Justin in a parking lot near the doctor’s office. He had something in his hand that looked like the same kind of medical file that Peach had retrieved from the locked supply closet.

What was the file? And where was it now? Whoever had searched his safe house must have found it and removed it.

She kept flipping through the pictures. The camera flashed a warning that the battery was almost dead. It would go black soon. When the camera died, she knew she would feel alone again. Looking at the pictures made her feel that Justin was with her.

Justin at the Pier.

Justin in an antiquarian bookstore.

Justin in Starbucks again.

He’d been in Starbucks a lot, which wasn’t unusual, but something about the picture attracted her eyes. The photo was taken from outside, through the shop window. Justin was at a table with his back to the camera, but he wasn’t alone. Someone else sat across from him, but all Peach could see when she zoomed in was an arm. A female arm. Justin was meeting a woman at the coffee shop.

Who?