“You’re working on something world-changing, are you? A big breakthrough?”

“Oh, that was just misdirection.”

“Didn’t sound like it to me.”

“Well . . . so what if I see the opportunity in a moment like this? Isn’t that what happened in Minnesota? All that metal fell from the sky and you know what? People got rich. I could at least get tenure.”

“So you’re actually thinking about your career right now?”

“Wouldn’t I be stupid not to?”

She doesn’t respond except to increase her pace.

He catches up with her. “Tell me you aren’t thinking about your name in the newspaper if you crack this.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“All I’m thinking about is stopping it. Period.”

They cut between two buildings, and a huge glass-walled facility looms up ahead. Jack turns onto a sidewalk that arrows them toward it. “We kind of do the same job, if you think about it.”

“Not really.”

“Being a scientist is like being a detective. We study the data and figure out the reasoning behind it.”

“Except that you get summers off and grade lab reports while watching Netflix and complain about having to stand in front of bored teenagers.”

“Ouch.” He walks with his head down, silent for a good minute, maybe lost in thought but probably sulking and feeling sorry for himself.

When he talks about greedily collecting data, when he reveals that he’s thinking about this as a possible step toward tenure and promotion, she is reminded of why she couldn’t be married to him for a single second more. She might be cold or cruel, but he’s always been selfish, and that’s a worse crime.

She doesn’t care about promotions or raises. She never sucks up to her superiors or pays any attention to getting press. She does what she does because the universe is a cold, indifferent place that doesn’t give two fucks whether anyone lives or dies—but she does. They never got an answer to what happened to their daughter. She was just snatched up. Just like that. No answers. No justice. Nora’s been trying to rectify that imbalance ever since, one case at a time.

He seems to sense her thoughts. “You’ve always been so impossibly rigid in your thinking.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You’re right. Everyone else is wrong.”

“They’re only wrong if they disagree with me.”

“Did it ever occur to you that somebody can do two things at once?” He switches the duffel bag to his other hand. “I can drive and listen to music. I can cut the carrots and carry on a conversation. I can help you investigate these murders and conduct scientific research.”

“Research that helps you.”

“You’re so anal. About everything. The way you make a bed. The way you load a dishwasher. You even organized sex.”

“It’s good to keep a schedule.”

“Ten p.m.? On Wednesdays?”