The media had been all over it at first. Now the East Jutland Police had decided to shelve the investigation pending new leads or evidence, but the man’s family hadn’t given up. A support group had been set up on Facebook, where the family asked people to help search for him. Hundreds of volunteers had wandered the streets of Aarhus, combing through cellars, wells, dumpsters, and harbor basins in the hopes of finding him.

In the beginning, Stefan had followed the news and “liked” every update and every photo the family posted. Now he only thought about the man when his hand hurt.

He put out his cigarette and was about to pull out a fresh pack when the front door of the Demokratisk Dagblad offices opened and the journalist stepped out onto the sidewalk.

It hadn’t been more than twenty minutes since he’d watched her go in. She had been with a man then, a boyfriend perhaps? At any rate, Stefan had watched them leave her place earlier that morning, not hand in hand but together all the same.

Now she stood there alone. She looked so strong and self-assured. He didn’t relish the thought of hurting her if things went that far. But he would do it all the same.

He stuck the pack of cigarettes back into the pocket of his denim jacket and followed her as she began to make her way down Store Strandstræde. He stayed a good distance behind her and stuck to the other side of the street as he watched her. She had an aura about her that made him think of an old painting he had seen as a child in a religious book at school, of Moses parting the Red Sea. In the picture, the waters had divided and looked like they were bowing in submission so that Moses could walk across the seafloor. In the same way, people now seemed to be moving out of the woman’s way.

At first, he didn’t recognize the man who appeared by her side and grabbed her arm. If it hadn’t been for the baffled expression that briefly flashed over her face, he would have assumed the man was a friend, because she didn’t slow down or break the rhythm of her stride. Instead, the two of them proceeded down the street, arm in arm.

Stefan followed them down to St. Ann’s Square and watched them get into a dark-blue Ford Focus. It wasn’t until the car pulled out into the lane of traffic and the man in the passenger’s seat turned his face toward the windshield that Stefan recognized him.

He felt his pulse speed up as rage and euphoria flapped like frightened birds inside his rib cage.

He pulled his work phone out of his pants pocket and called. The call was answered after two rings, not with a greeting but with resounding silence.

“Hello?” Stefan said.

“Yes?”