“We need to find the kid,” Archie said. He took the photographs off the board and slapped them down on the table in front of Flannigan. “Take these to a locksmith and see what you can find out about them,” he said. “Heil, you keep contacting aquarium supply stores to see if anyone’s been lurking around asking about blue-ringed octopuses.”

“Besides me,” Heil said.

“Besides you,” Archie said.

“And Ngyun, you troll cephalopod chat rooms and see if any homicidal fiends turn up.”

“Cephalopod chat rooms?” Ngyun said.

“It’s the Internet,” Archie said. “They exist.”

Heil pushed forward a four-inch-tall stack of paper. “These are all tips that came in online and by phone overnight alone,” he said. “People who think they’ve seen the kid, or have had a vision about Henry, or just want to talk.”

“The chief assigned us four patrol cops,” Archie said. “That’s an inch for each of them.”

Ngyun raised his hand. “Um, are we going to talk about the octopus?” he said.

The door flung open and Susan stalked in. She looked as if she’d taken a shower fully clothed. Her bright berry hair fell in frizzy strips. Eye makeup was smeared across one cheekbone. Her black sweater hung wet and limp.

She stood for a moment, catching her breath. Then she said, “I have a problem.”

They all looked at her, waiting.

She opened her purse and got out a blue rectangular cardboard box of tampons and tossed it on the table. It slid a foot and came to a stop in front of Heil.

“I found this in my purse,” she said.

No one moved.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Susan said. “Not the tampons. Look inside.”

Archie picked up the box and tipped it. Several tampons slid out, along with a small black key. The key bounced on the table and then lay still.

Archie looked at the photographs in front of Flannigan and then back at the key.

It was a match.

“Where did you get that?” Archie asked softly.

Chapter 27

CHAPTER

27

Archie turned Susan’s palms up and held them in his hands, scanning for the telltale mark. He was amazed at how steady he was, how neutral his face felt. It was something all parents learned. Don’t show panic. Don’t show the terror welling up in your gut. That projectile vomiting? It’s just the flu.

He bent her fingers back and lifted one of her palms closer. Her pale hand had a fine sheen of sweat that made it sparkle. She smelled like Easter lilies.

“I’m fine,” she said.

There. A tiny brown speck, on the base of her thumb near her wrist. Archie steadied himself. He touched it with his finger. “What’s this?” he said, looking up.

Susan slid her hands out of his and squeezed them under her armpits. “A freckle,” she said. “I was not attacked. I think I would have noticed.”