“Esplanade’s been closed for two days,” Nick said. “Only people we’ve seen since are utility workers and social workers. We haven’t been to the west side since they raised the bridges this morning. Otter must have gotten trapped over there.”

Heil was still on the phone. Archie had one more angle. He got out the picture from the hospital security camera and handed it to Nick. “What about this kid? Does he look familiar to anyone?”

Nick glanced down at it and handed it to one of the women, who looked it and passed it along. No one’s hand shot up.

“Was he alone?” the bearded man with the braids asked, looking at the picture.

“Probably,” Archie said.

Heil returned, phone back in his pocket.

The man stepped forward and handed the image of the kid back to Archie. “We would have noticed a kid alone,” he said.

That was it. Archie took the photo and folded it into quarters, half to fit it back in his coat, half to hide his disappointment. “So?” Archie said to Heil.

“She said she knows some people,” Heil said. “They take in rescue dogs. Specialize in pit bulls. They can take all three dogs until the flood danger has passed. They’re good people. The woman volunteers at the Mission. Her name’s Violet.”

“I know her,” Nick said. “She works at the soup kitchen.” He turned to the others. “The one with the weird eyebrows.” They all seemed to know who he was talking about.

“So you okay with that?” Archie said.

Nick looked down at his dog, and then up in the direction of the river. “Yeah,” he said.

“What about us?” one of the women asked.

“The Mission’s full,” Heil said. He grinned, pleased with himself. “But she said she could find room for five more.”

“Sorry we weren’t more help,” Nick said to Archie.

“Do me a favor,” Archie said. “Ask around about the kid. Or about anyone down by the river who might have seemed suspicious.”

“You got it,” Nick said.

Gigi thumped her tail again.

“See?” Nick said. “She’s a good dog.”

Chapter 22

CHAPTER

22

Susan had just decided to close her eyes for only a second on the couch when the phone rang. If she hadn’t been so disoriented, she would have let it go to voice mail. But she’d had a bottle and a half of wine and wasn’t thinking straight. Her purse was beside her on the floor. She reached into it and felt around for the slippery surface of her phone, found it, pulled it to her face, and mumbled something that sounded like “Hello.”

“Is this Susan Ward?” a voice asked hesitantly. A woman’s voice. Elderly.

Susan blinked, trying to clear her head. “Yes.”

“From the Herald?”