Upstairs Sarah was in the squad room, sitting at a desk with a framed photograph of two cherubic young boys. Renfrew was next to her, flipping through a giant book of what I assumed were mug shots. “Back already?” said the detective, smiling at me. “We’re going to be busy with the books for a little while.”

I smiled back, getting it instantly. The detective two-step wasn’t just for Sarah’s benefit. It was for mine as well. They’d decided that Bruxton had better odds of getting information out of me. I was his pet project.

“Lily, I was worried we wouldn’t get to say goodbye.” Sarah stood and came up to me. “Please believe me when I say I want to help find your sister.” She snapped open her elegant Hermès handbag. She handed me a heavy ivory card, with Sarah Lyons embossed in black curlicued script, with a telephone number beneath it. “If I can help in any way, please call.”

“I guess we’ll leave you two to the books,” said Bruxton. “Lily, do you want to grab some lunch?”

“I wish I could, but I’ve got a deadline today and I need to get back to my friend’s apartment to work.”

“I can drive you back,” said Bruxton.

Persistent bastard. “Great,” I said, attempting enthusiasm.

Sarah ignored Bruxton but she leaned forward and gave me a quick hug. “Call if you need anything. I’d be happy to help,” she whispered. Renfrew gave me a wave and ruffled the pages of the mug shot book, summoning Sarah back to her seat.

❖

“Can I ask you something?” Bruxton asked, once we set off in his battered navy Ford Taurus. Now that I knew his angle, I wanted to hear Bruxton’s questions. “Why’d you move to Spain?”

“My parents were from Ireland, and I have dual citizenship. I could work anywhere in the European Union.”

“Okay, but why Spain?”

I wasn’t about to confide the combination of frazzled nerves and broken heart that had pushed me to leave New York. After Claudia moved in with me, I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. Living with my sister was tough, but living with my sister when she was on drugs was impossible. I spent most of my time instead at Martin’s apartment. Then, in the wake of the lady architect debacle, I’d decided that I couldn’t trust Martin. After taking temporary refuge at Jesse’s place, I’d seized the chance to work on a project in Spain and never looked back.

“I went there originally because I was writing a guidebook, but I ended up staying,” I told Bruxton. “It’s so beautiful there, and the food is amazing, and there’s incredible art and architecture. The people are so nice.”

“Come on. You’re from New York. You didn’t move there because people are nice.”