A man in the store’s blue polo uniform steps outside and begins speaking to the crowd. He waves his hands, then retrieves the fold-up sign. A collective groan sounds from the people waiting as everyone disperses. No, no, no. I approach the storefront. The man shakes his head from behind the glass doorway. He turns the lock, then points to a sign listing store hours showing they’re closed for the night.

I hail a cab. My driver sets off for the police station, down the hill and across the river, while I try not to let disappointment dampen my verve. The closer we get, the harder I gnaw on my thumbnail, remembering those pencil-thin lips and zip ties. That man who tried to abduct me might pop up again tonight, and I won’t have a phone or any means of calling for help when he does. I unwrap another cookie, searching for the sense of calm I felt back in Chang’s apartment. Despite the moment of reprieve, my nerves are on full alert again, out in the cacophonous city with its dark corners and concentrated crowds.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. As long as I speak to Valentin, I’m still making progress.

He’s been investigating Angela’s case and others that may relate without knowing everything I’m doing. Without understanding the nuanced clues Angela is leaving or having all the puzzle pieces that have plagued me since I arrived. But he has access to more information than I do, and a network of people to help him pursue leads on both Manu and Angela. Hopefully, he’s willing to share some of that insight if I begin by confessing some of my morning.

The taxi rolls to a stop beside the grim stone building. I scan the groups of homeless people loitering in twos and threes out front. Whiskey fogs and imaginary friends occupy the men and women present, and I breathe a sigh of relief that my anti-American attacker is somewhere else. I ask the driver to idle in a no-parking zone, then take the steps two at a time. The lobby is empty. A young man in uniform staffs the reception desk. He rests his chin on his palm until I tap the counter.

“Inspector Valentin, please?” I ask in French.

The young man shakes his head. “Sorry, miss. He’s in the field.”

My heart sinks to my toes. There’s no way of finding Valentin without a cell phone. When I ask for Valentin’s location (and for the young man to breach protocol), he only smirks.