“How do you know that?” she asks. “We’re not exactly sure when she was killed.”

“We went to pick up some things, and the kitchen,” he says, “it was full of blood.”

She waits, and her own heart fills up her ears, beating. “You have to tell me what you know.”

“That’s all I know,” he says.

He has trusted Bear with everything. She sees it now. Behind her, the faucet in the stainless-steel sink drips, a soft patter that after days would drive anyone crazy.

“What happened during the fire? When you were little?”

“I don’t remember,” he says.

“You were hurt, though.”

“Yes,” he says. “I have a burn scar.” He turns his arm over, and she can see the edge of it, coming out from underneath his short sleeve.

“And your mother?” she asks.

“She broke her back,” he says. “That’s why she always has pain meds.”

“Where on her back?” Kateri asks. She pictures the bones on Elise’s table, the pelvis with the birth scars, the knuckles of spine.

“Low,” Shannon says. “We were crawling to get out, and a beam hit her. By her waist,” he says.

“Are you sure about that?” Kateri asks.

“Yeah,” he says. “She has a scar. She had to have surgery on it.”

The sink patters away. She needs to look again at the bones as soon as possible. She takes her phone out and checks for messages. Then she asks, “Does Bear know about your sister?”

“Yes,” he says. Then he adds, “He doesn’t have her.” He folds and unfolds his hands, switching the lace of his fingers each time. “Aren’t you looking?” he asks.

“We have a substantial lead,” Kateri says. “She’s been seen.”

He presses his fingers together and steeples his hands in front of his face. It’s too late for her to try Elise Diaz, but she can get Hurt, and she can get there first thing in the morning. She notices the relief in Shannon’s shoulders.

“Who’s the angel?” she asks him again, and this time he looks her in the eye, waiting. “The tall man,” Kateri adds. “In the suit.”

“Did they see him?” Shannon asks.

TWENTY-FIVE: SHANNON

MONDAY, OCTOBER 16

It was my turn to leave him in the bed. I got up while Bear was still sleeping and crept through the house. I looked in all the drawers; I tried to open the computer. It was password protected. I couldn’t think of anything he might use as a password, and my guess was that he was really good at coming up with something obscure. Like IWasATeenageMurderer.

I almost typed it in, but the sound of Buddy’s feet from the bedroom made me jump, and I slammed the laptop closed.

I let Buddy out, then shooed him back into the bedroom and closed the door most of the way. But before I did, I looked for a long time at Bear, asleep on his stomach, his arm stretched out where I had been, his face slack, the whiskers on his chin coming in gray.