I worked swiftly, picking Jack’s belongings up from the floor and stuffing them into his backpack, suitcase and boxes, and as I did so, I allowed myself to mull over the conversation with Maya again, as I’d been doing ever since we’d hung up. The more I thought about it, the more anomalies there were. Maybe it was wishful thinking or me clutching at an entire straw factory, but I was certain there’d been a slight waver in her voice, a tremor when she’d said the man in the photo was called Gordon Jones or James, some random guy she’d met once and who lived in a different state. Her delivery had almost been too slick, too convenient, and she’d either set the photo to private or deleted it from Facebook altogether. Whichever, she’d done so while we were still talking. If it—he—meant nothing to her, why the rush? Why bother at all? Adding all these details together, my gut feeling and instincts all whispered Maya Scott was hiding something.

Calling her again was pointless. I’d have bet all my money, a paltry sum unless I gave her Jack’s stash, she’d spin another tale. Trouble was, I wouldn’t be there to see it. Maybe she’d cooperate with Heron and Stevens, but the only proof I had linking her to Jack was a library book he’d taken by mistake, and a picture that no longer existed. The memory of the latter faded a little more with every passing day, to the point where I couldn’t be sure it had actually been him.

Maya wasn’t my only problem. Once I’d loaded Jack’s things into my car and got home, I realized I couldn’t keep them there. My space was limited, and unless I wanted to stumble over his stuff stacked on my living room floor every night, which I didn’t think my heart would withstand, I had to find another solution. I’d dug through the boxes and removed two of Jack’s favorite shirts and the framed photo of us, and driven across town to the cheapest storage facility I could find, where I rented the smallest space available on a rolling monthly basis.

Things only got worse the next day. I salted my dinner with sugar and forgot to pick up toilet paper, and as I was about to step out to the store, the doorbell rang.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Heron said after I’d let her and Stevens in, and they’d sat down on the sofa. She threw a glance at Stevens and gave him a slight nod as if to say, “Your turn.”