I said, “I should’ve followed your advice. Instead, I brought up the past.”

More dead air. “I see . . .”

“She reacted just as you’d imagine. Maybe I wanted her to.”

“You’re saying . . .”

“I really don’t know what I’m saying, Bert. Listen, I appreciate your calling, but things are kind of . . . I don’t feel like talking about it.”

“Forgive me,” he said.

Apologizing again.

“Nothing to forgive,” I said. “You gave me good advice, I screwed up.”

“You made a mistake, son. Mistakes can be remedied.”

“Some.”

“Robin’s a flexible woman.”

He’d met Robin twice. I said, “Is that your natural optimism speaking?”

“No, it’s an old man’s intuition. Alex, I’ve made my share of mistakes, but after a few years one does get a sense for people. I’d hate to see you misled.”

“About Robin?”

“About anything,” he said. “Another reason I’m calling is that I’m planning to travel. Perhaps for a while. Cambodia, Vietnam, some places I’ve been to, others I haven’t.”

“Sounds great, Bert.”

“I didn’t want you to try to reach me and not find me here.”

“I appreciate that.” Had I come across that needy?

“That sounds presumptuous, doesn’t it?” he said. “To think you’d call. But . . . just in case.”

“I appreciate your telling me, Bert.”

“Yes . . . well, then, good luck.”

“When are you leaving?” I said.

“Soon. As soon as final arrangements are complete.”

“Bon voyage,” I said. “When you get back, give a call. I’d love to hear about the trip.”

“Yes . . . may I offer one bit of advice, son?”

Please don’t. “Sure.”

“Try to season each day with a new perspective.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Bye, now, Alex.”

I placed the receiver back in its cradle. What had that been about? The more I thought about the conversation, the more it sounded like good-bye.

Bert going somewhere . . . he’d sounded sad. Those comments he’d made about senility. All the apologies.

Bert was a first-rate therapist, wise enough to know I hadn’t wanted advice. But he offered a parting shot, anyway.

Try to season each day with a fresh perspective. Last words from an old friend facing deterioration? Taking a trip . . . a final journey?

There I was again, off on some worst-case tangent.

Keep it simple: The old man had always traveled, loved to travel. No reason to think his destination was anywhere but Southeast Asia . . .

The phone rang again. I switched it to speaker and Milo’s voice, distant and flecked with static, filled the kitchen. “Any new insights?”

“How about an actual fact?” I said. “Nicholas Hansen couldn’t have been involved in Janie’s murder. Early in June he was finishing up his last year at Columbia. After he graduated, he went to Amsterdam and spent the summer at a life-drawing course at the Rijksmuseum.”

“That assumes he didn’t come home for the weekend.”