The last of day’s light was dying in the sky when I brought the boat around, took it back upriver, and eventually warped it against the revetment wall below the animal control complex. I killed the engine and the lights, dropped onto the main deck, and hopped ashore with the bow and stern lines. LuEllen came up, carrying the boots, as I finished tying off.

“Better take some repellent,” she said, tossing me a spray can. “The mosquitoes’ll be fierce.”

“How’d the pictures come out?” I asked as I sprayed my hands and rubbed my face and the back of my neck.

“Not sure,” she said, frowning a bit. “Three frames look good. On the fourth, her thumb might be in the way. I can’t tell on the wet neg, I didn’t want to take the chance of scratching it. But holding it up to the light

we could have a problem.”

“Goddamn it,” I said.

LuEllen shrugged. “If we’ve got three digits and she’s only blocking the fourth, it just means it’ll take a little longer to get in. We might have to try a dozen combinations, but we’ll get it.”

“When can you print?”

“Tonight, when we get back. I can’t do it on the river because of the engine vibrations.”

The night was still warm, but we wore dark long-sleeved shirts and jeans and the gum boots instead of shoes. I carried my portable in its black nylon case, and LuEllen had a daypack over her shoulder. We walked without talking, LuEllen using her miniature flashlight sparingly as we moved through the darkness. At the bottom of the hill she stopped, leaned her face close to my ear, and said, “Wait three minutes.” I thought she was going up the hill, but instead, we simply stood in the dark.

When your eyes adjust from light to dark, the night vision seems to fade in, like a black-and-white slide coming into focus. What was pitch-dark when you first come out of bright lights is suddenly nothing more than twilight. It works the same for your hearing, although most people aren’t aware of it. When you stand stock-still in a dark place, the noises that once resided in the background suddenly come to the fore. You notice the roar of far-off trucks climbing a grade, the motors and air conditioners, the insects in the trees, the sound of the wind. Human voices are an absolutely distinct sound; even from a long distance, when you can’t make out the individual vowels and consonants, the rhythm or the rise and fall of the pitch tell you that you’re hearing another human.

We heard all the background sounds, picked them up one at a time. No voices.