When the locksmith was finished, she wrote him a check and then walked him to the front door. After that, the two of us made the rounds, assuring ourselves that the windows and doors were secure. I followed Ruthie upstairs and walked with her from room to room, watching as she turned out the lights one by one. I was dimly aware that something was bothering me, but the immediacy of the moment required my undivided attention. The notion was like someone knocking at a distant door. Twice, I paused and turned my head as though I might identify the source.

I walked with her to the garage at the rear of the property and waited while she backed her car into the alleyway. I closed the garage door after her and circled the house to the front, where my Honda was parked. Meanwhile, she’d driven along the alley and pulled around to the front, where she eased her car in behind mine. We proceeded in a slow two-car motorcade. I kept an eye on her in my rearview mirror, noting how anxiously she scanned the darkened streets. At Henry’s, I left my car with the engine running while she parked in his drive. I let her into the studio and then went back out to scout for a parking place of my own.

Once that was taken care of, it didn’t take long to get Ruthie settled. I keep the sofa bed made up with fresh sheets, so all I had to do was add two pillows and a quilt. At 10:00, we said our good nights and I climbed the spiral staircase and got ready for bed. It was comforting to have someone else on the premises. I was reminded of the nights Dietz had camped out on the same sofa bed. Waking in the wee hours, if I peeked down from the loft, I’d see him reading or watching television with the sound turned so low, I could have sworn it was off.

I slid under the covers and I was just about to turn out my bedside lamp when I identified the idea my subconscious had been trying to bring to my attention. I got out of bed and crossed to the railing where the loft overlooks the living room below. I could see Ruthie propped up in the sofa bed, a book open in her lap.

“I didn’t have a chance to tell you. Henry broke the code on the number cipher Pete created. Turned out to be a list of women’s names. Six of them.”

She looked up. “You want to come down or talk to me over the rail?”

I padded down the stairs barefoot, my oversize T-shirt skimming the tops of my knees.

She moved her feet so I could perch on the bottom of her fold-out bed. I could feel the bed frame through the mattress and wondered how she could bear it. I’d never had a complaint, but the supports felt like the metal struts on a sewer grate.