After we hung up, I dialed Martin’s number, even though I knew I’d get nothing. While the full mailbox message came on again, I got a call, saw on the cracked screen that it was Sarah again, and let it slide into voicemail. When I went to pick up her message, I was stunned to hear Martin’s voice. “Lily, sweetheart, it’s me. I just want to tell you not to worry, no matter what you hear. Everything will be fine, I promise you that. Trust me. I love you.”

I almost dropped the phone. I listened to Martin’s voice again, then examined the call log. No, I hadn’t missed his call; he must have called the message center directly. Why hadn’t he wanted to speak to me? I listened to it one more time, then sent it into the ether. Sarah’s message was next. She wanted to let me know that a woman had come into her building and had knocked endlessly on my sister’s door. “I thought it might be the woman I saw in November,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “I called the police but the woman ran away.” I saved the message, feeling an odd combination of gratitude that she cared, and curiosity as to why she’d decided to get so involved. There was something about her that niggled at my memory, but I was too preoccupied to think about what it was. I went to Bruxton’s room and gave them an update.

“I’m so confused by everything,” I admitted. “I feel like I’m going in circles.”

“Welcome to police work,” said Bruxton. “You’d make a good detective, if you weren’t so impatient.”

It was well after midnight when Jesse and I went back to our room. I brushed my hair and fanned it out over my shoulders. “Why doncha put on some more lipstick and eyeliner while you’re at it?” asked Jesse.

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Innocent. I take it you noticed there’s a nice hunk of man meat down the hall.”

“You’re not seriously suggesting that Bruxton and I…”

“Let me put it like this,” said Jesse. “He’s been lookin’ at you like you’re the answer to every riddle he ever came across.”

“He’s not my type.”

“No, your type burns down buildings and makes money off other folks’ sufferin’. You hang around and feel guilty about it.”

“Guilty?”

“From the time I met you, when you were a bundle of guilt about leaving your mother and sister. Then guilt about Claudia. Guilt kept you with Martin, since you could hang around with someone with some pretty sick kinks and say it was okay cause you were helpin’ him.”

“Stop!” I said. “Are you giving up photography to be a shrink?”