It took me a second, but then I realized the man had been there moments ago, when I had gone to the bar to order my dinner, an anonymous presence at the edge of my field of vision. He might have been in the café for longer than that. I just hadn't fully noticed him before, focused as I'd been on the pictures.

But I noticed him now.

He sat hunched over his glass, forearms on the table, dressed in black pants and a blue shirt, its sleeves rolled back over his arms. He was staring out the window, so I only had a partial view of his face. But then, as if sensing he was being watched, he swiveled his face my way. His eyes, small and black, glided over me, not stopping till they had swept past me, giving no indication that they had registered my presence. Then he turned his head back to his glass and swallowed some beer.

Greta came out with the food, her eyes searching for me, and I hurried toward her, heart hammering, before she could call my name. With a smile and a thank you, I took the tray, the soup giving off the rich odor of cooked tomatoes. I carried the food back to my table, along the way sneaking a glance at the man.

He wore a mustache that curved downward at the corners of a mouth set in a sour expression, and his nose had a noticeable bump on its bridge. Five o'clock shadow dusted his cheeks. Along his right forearm, from wrist to elbow, a white scar curved. But what caught my eye was his lantern jaw—a slab of bone under stretched skin. It was much too long for his face and culminated in a deeply notched chin, like someone had pierced the flesh there with a fishing hook and then pulled hard on the line.

I thought I could feel his eyes on my back as I strode to my table, but when I sat and flicked my gaze in his direction, his head was turned once more toward the window.

My appetite was gone, but I forced down a few spoonfuls of soup and chewed some bread, not wanting to give a hint that anything was out of the ordinary. I slipped Esther's final picture from my pocket and slid it on the table. As I blew on a spoonful of soup, I examined the picture again. What had been a suspicion had now become a certainty.

Slightly to Esther's right and behind her was a man. Only his head and neck and one shoulder were visible—the rest was obscured partly by Esther and partly by a gray-haired woman who sat on a bench at the edge of the picture, wearing a black dress and facing away from the camera. The man himself was not facing away. In fact, the picture displayed his face in its entirety. It was a wonder he had not noticed he was being photographed, but then again, Manny Orrin must have become quite adept at snapping pictures surreptitiously.