One of the many subjects Angela and I always disagreed on was people—their intentions, their motivations, their treatment of others. While I’ve never been trusting of people—call it a remnant of being picked last for kickball—Angela has always sensed them and given them exactly what they wanted. Why not? she used to say. People see what they want to see, so why not give them what they want if it works to your benefit? Always the socially aware sister. The emotive twin. Staring at Valentin’s exasperated mien, I know she’s not wrong. A swift punch of longing hits my chin, and tears pool behind my eyes, missing my sister—needing her expertise to balance my default behaviors beyond this week, and throughout this life.

It’s been so long.

Valentin regards me on the sidewalk, alone and apart from his colleagues. His expression softens.

I clear my throat and push the sudden emotion aside. “Well, I had my phone stolen so I couldn’t call you, and I had to tell you something. I went to Emmanuelle Wood’s apartment.”

Valentin sucks in a breath. “And?”

Nothing comes to mind that will lessen the impact or better couch this news, so I just go for the truth: “There’s a dead body beneath the sink.”

Call me the tactless twin.

He takes a step back. His eyelids shut several times, maybe focusing blurry vision. “That’s impossible. I was there last week.”

“Could be it was moved there recently. Makes sense to deposit it after the police finished looking around.”

He nods slowly, as though disturbed by my candor. “Anything else?”

I consider taking his hand but think better of it before I do. No need for theatrics. “Do you think it’s Manu?” I need her to be alive, to prove Angela wasn’t implicated in anything, that they were actually good friends despite obvious conflict.

Valentin exhales, staring at his feet. “I hope not. You had better get inside and remain there. I hope you’re not talking to strangers anymore, Miss Darby.”

“No. Not anymore. Did you learn anything else?” I can’t help pressing him for more information, more detail. Especially when I recall my visit to identify Angela’s supposed corpse. Valentin must know more than he’s saying. “I meant to ask: the morgue director said Angela’s gunshot wound and tattoo were administered postmortem. Why would anyone do that?”

He sighs, annoyed. “He should not have shared that with you. Once we confirm how those details align with the cause of death, I will update you. You can be assured.”

“What about this dead body?” I motion to the apartment building. “He has the tattoo and the gunshot to the head, too, right? Is this the work of the same serial killer that went after Angela?”