She unlocked the door and carried the carton inside. The air within smelled stale but not unpleasant. She closed the door behind her, called out, “Hello?” just in case, and, receiving no reply, walked through a small living area to the adjoining kitchen. She set the carton and mail down on a small kitchen island, relieved to have delivered the possessions to their rightful owner at last.

The house was quiet, and there was no sign that anyone had been inside for days. She turned and looked at the living area, where a two-cushion sofa faced an old box television set on a wooden cart. An old padded rocker, angled toward the television, appeared to be the favored piece of furniture. Framed advertising signs for Cuban cigars hung on the walls. The décor was very spare, very male. Also, very orderly—which stood out in sad contrast with the current state of Agent Solomon’s mind. She shook her head, remembering his nonsensical recommendation to deposit a letter in an unmarked mailbox somewhere near Wall Street.

Dennis the fish swam in a small bowl near the television. He was alive. Odessa carried the bowl near the sink. The water was cloudy and needed to be changed. A shaker of fish food sat on the sill of a window looking out at the backyard. Dennis sipped at the crumbs as soon as they hit the surface of the water.

“There you go, Dennis,” she said. “You’re welcome.”

She opened the refrigerator, and it wasn’t bad inside. A few suspect leftovers inside covered Pyrex dishes. Bottles of nutrition shakes and sugary sodas. Not much to throw out.

She walked down the short rear hall, stopping just inside the door of Agent Solomon’s bedroom. It was simply furnished, the bed neatly made, a small hamper of worn clothes in the corner. She chose not to poke around, merely sliding open a mirrored closet door, taking note of the old suit jackets inside, and a bright-blue FBI windbreaker.

She profiled an older bachelor, possibly a widower, someone who preferred to keep his home neat rather than be bothered to tidy up after. Solitary living, alone but not necessarily lonely. For whatever reason, she tried to envision herself living in this house near the end of her life. A simple existence, a small universe. These thoughts began to cascade to other thoughts, big life thoughts, wondering about Linus and her future, things she didn’t want to sort through now, or ever.