Tinsley listened to the familiar sounds of cleaning up after a meal. The clattering of a dishwasher being loaded. Running water. The garbage disposal. Eventually the music shut off. Footsteps. The security alarm being armed. From the crack beneath the door, he saw the lights go out, and she went up the stairs to the second floor. After ten minutes, he was certain that the doctor’s dinner companion hadn’t forgotten something and wouldn’t be returning unexpectedly.

He slithered out from beneath the bed.

Even with the suppressor attached, the Browning Buck Mark .22 felt light in his hand. A small-caliber weapon, but it was mostly for show. If he did need it, it was effective enough at close range and virtually silent. If things took an unexpected turn, his Sig Sauer P320 made for ample backup.

Tinsley slipped out of the guest bedroom and followed the doctor upstairs. The light was on in the bedroom, but he heard her voice from the office. She was on the telephone, speaking to what sounded like her hairdresser. He stood on the landing and listened to her leave a message canceling her appointment for tomorrow. Such a tiny thing, but the kind of detail that often swayed a skeptical detective. It was very considerate of her. Once he heard her hang up the phone, he let himself into the room.

He shifted his posture, standing more erect, and let his voice take on a slight British flavor. The image of the gentleman spy was so ingrained in some Americans’ imaginations that it helped them to think of him that way. Amazing what a little courtesy could get you.

“Good evening,” he said.

This would go one of two ways.

She screamed and stood quickly. That was natural. The walls of the house were thick, and it wasn’t loud enough to attract the neighbors’ attention, so he let her get it out of her system. He held the gun up so she could see it but did not point it at her. Her mouth snapped shut, her pupils dilated, and her breathing became ragged. Her eyes flitted from his face to the gun and back to his face. Then they narrowed, recognizing him.

“It’s you.”

“Hello, Doctor.”

“What are you doing in my house? What do you want?”

Tinsley liked her. She was smart enough to see she was cornered and that a fight would not end well for her. She was trying to reason with him. It wouldn’t work, but it was her best option. He would treat her gently if she let him.

“I want for you to open your safe, Dr. Furst. Can you do that for me?”

“My safe? What do you . . .” She trailed off. “May I make a phone call? I can clear all this up.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have one that she would appreciate.

“Please?” she asked again.