The restaurant, Lulit�s, was on Soquel Avenue adjacent to a Brazilian jiujitsu studio. Grunts and thuds vibrated through the shared wall.

Regina is five-one, I�m six-three. She rose on tiptoes to hug me; I bent down to meet her. Button-cute and a chameleon. Perfect for snaring the gullible.

She was wearing a silver silk blouse over black gabardine slacks, which on her gave the look of a kid playing dress-up. She�d corralled her wild dark hair into a bun, ditched the Keds for ballet flats, subbed out her gigantic horn-rimmed glasses for an understated rimless pair. Just enough makeup.

Introducing Ms. Polished, Discreet PI.

�What�s shaking, Poirot?� she said.

The waitress greeted her by name. After we put in our order � atakilt wat, vegetable sambusas, lentil stew � Lulit herself emerged in clogs and an apron.

�How spicy?� she said.

�Spicy�s fine,� I said.

�Make him regret it,� Regina said.

Lulit laughed and retreated to her kitchen.

�I already regret this,� I said.

�What�s new with the fam?� Regina asked.

�Now you want to know?�

�I�m trying to be civilized.�

I caught her up. Charlotte was reading like a fiend. Myles was starting preschool in the fall. Amy still had her clinic job but was toying, as ever, with leaving and going into private practice.

�Give everyone a hug for me.�

�Will do.�

�Sorry I missed the birthday party,� she said. �Ed had a department thing.�

�Not a problem. Thanks for the presents. The kids loved them.�

�Auntie Regina knows child development.�

�How�s Ed, speaking of?�

Regina�s boyfriend of the last year was a Stanford biology professor � a widower, fifteen years her senior; rangy, balding, handsome in a well-worn way. And utterly smitten.

�He wants me to marry him,� she said.

�Wow. And?�

�I didn�t say yes. I didn�t say no.�

�Did you give him a time frame, at least?�

�Time is a construct.�

�He must really love you, to put up with your shit.�

Regina posed daintily, fingers under chin. �What�s not to love?�

Regina and I walked the flagstone path to our cars.

�Thanks for backing me up,� I said. �Let�s find a place to sit and talk it through.�

She checked her watch. �No can do. Client in thirty. I�ll call you tomorrow.�

�Are you serious?�

�Maybe Thursday.�

�Goddammit, Regina.�

�Listen, Poirot. Some of us are busy.�

Toxicology had gone out to FML Inc., a third-party lab contracted by law enforcement agencies nationwide � Quest Diagnostics for dead people. The acronym stood for Forensic Medical Laboratories, but around the bureau it had morphed into a running joke.

Where the hell is my tox screen? It�s been fifteen weeks.

Fuck My Life!

Rick Valois�s memory once more proved selective.

The report listed ketamine metabolites in Adam�s blood � plus alcohol, cannabis, and three prescription drugs: escitalopram, trade name Lexapro, the Millennial Multivitamin; midazolam, trade name Versed, given to calm jitters before a medical procedure; cyclobenzaprine, trade name Flexeril, a common muscle relaxant.

No single finding stood out. A thirty-three-year-old with a history of anxiety was a likely candidate for SSRIs or a benzo. A gym rat might feel stiff every so often. Weed and liquor were legal. As I�d told the Valoises, even ketamine could be used therapeutically.

But all six together twanged my antennae. Each had a sedative effect, ranging from subtle to bone-crushing. I couldn�t imagine a legitimate reason to combine them.

Plenty of illegitimate reasons, though.

I finished the official report and clicked over to the independent autopsy.

In my coroner days I�d been leery of private labs. Invariably they receive damaged goods: a body that�s been moved, sliced up, sampled, stitched, frozen, thawed. Grieving families are starved for new information, creating a powerful business incentive.

Law enforcement has its own incentives, of course. Nobody�s pure. But I knew the folks who�d worked Adam�s case. They were good people, honest people. Nor could I see a reason for them to lie. To the contrary: In sticking to her guns, Kat was courting Rick Valois�s wrath � and the wrath of his lawyer.

The second autopsy of Adam Valois took place on September 24, 2026, at TruPath in San Carlos. Their website menu of services included mesothelioma investigation and neuro workup. A limited exam involving a single organ system cost $7,600.

Rick and Liz had paid $13,500 for the full monty, plus $1,480 for another tox screen.

The pathologist was Dr. Philip Schue. Assisting him were Victor Ramirez, RN, and autopsy technician Wendy Davis. A boxed paragraph stated that photographs had been taken but not included; clients wishing to review them should call the office to consult with a staff member.

Translation: You don�t want to see this. Like, really. Trust us.

Schue went into greater detail than Judy had � appropriately, considering his fee � and his writing style was fluid, aimed at an educated layperson. Where she documented the torso slashes and went on, he named them as propeller wounds and cited PubMed references. He identified the chest tattoo as a triskelion, a Celtic triple spiral. He summarized the processes of postmortem change, explaining how cold interfered with timeline determination and providing average water temperatures for San Francisco Bay in the week prior to discovery.

Nowhere did Schue state that the head trauma had occurred prior to death. Good reason: Given the decomposition and disfigurement, no one could make that claim. Maybe he�d speculated verbally to the Valoises, but he�d avoided committing it to paper.

In essence, his interpretations matched Judy�s, idea for idea, if not word for word.

Until the very end.

Regarding the manner of death, our conclusion is that this case is a possible homicide.

I gritted my teeth.

By law, there are five � and only five � manners of death.

Natural. Homicide. Suicide. Accidental. Undetermined.

By law, Coroner�s Deputy Kat Davenport had to issue a ruling under one � and only one � of those categories. She didn�t have the luxury of hedging with customer-centric adjectives like possible or potential or who knows, manner of death is a construct.

This was Schue, justifying his price tag.

The second toxicology report came from none other than FML Inc.

Furnish More Lucre.

Same results. Ketamine. Cannabis. Ethyl alcohol. Lexapro. Versed. Cyclobezaprine, here tagged not as Flexeril but under a different brand-name, Amrix.

I read the list; read it again.

My own memory creaked open.

I recognized that combination.

I�d seen it before.

The security booth was unoccupied. I rang the callbox.

A female voice said, �Hello?�

�Clay Edison for Kat.�

�Be right down.�

I didn�t recognize the deputy who stepped from the elevator and crossed the lobby to admit me. Her name tag read C. Lopez.

She said, �Heard a lot about you.�

�Good or bad?�

She laughed. �Depends who you ask.�

We rode up to the third floor. Approaching the squad room, my hand went to my hip, feeling for a phantom keycard.

Lopez buzzed us through.

Kat Davenport was waiting in the hall, her wiry frame enlarged by a boxy shirt, her limp brown hair pulled tight. She looked a little older, a little harder, than the last time I�d seen her, that night at Drake�s.

�The man, the legend,� she said.

I dropped my bag to accept a bear hug.

�Welcome home,� she said.

Night shift runs a skeleton crew: two deputies and a sergeant. The lights were dim, coffeepot one-third full. We passed my old cubicle. Unfamiliar snapshots tiled the fuzzy gray walls. The sign read Grant. Another newcomer.

Kat and I sat to catch up. I showed her photos of my kids. She showed me photos of her wife, currently seven months� pregnant.

�Outstanding,� I said. �Congratulations.�

�Thanks, dude.�

�We have a garage full of baby gear. You can have it all.�

Kat grinned. �Does that mean you�re done?�

�It means my family is perfect just the way it is. How much time are you planning to take?�

She shrugged, propped her boots on the desk. Steel toes, cracked black soles. I�d thrown mine out long ago.

�We�ll see. Things are kinda tricky, staffing-wise.� A beat. �Shoops is retiring.�

�No way.�

�January 1.�

Lisa Shupfer had been my closest colleague. We hadn�t spoken much since I�d left the bureau. I�d always attributed the lapse to her not being a �chat on the phone� kind of person. But the same held for Kat � for everyone I�d left behind.

I said, �Retiring to do what?�

�She and Ron got a place in Idaho. They�re gonna raise horses or goats or some crap.�

�End of an era.�

�That�s for damn sure.�

�Is there gonna be a party?�

�Clay. This is Shoops we�re talking about.�

�No party,� I said.

�Might want to give her a call.�

�I will. Thanks for letting me know.�

�Sure. So.� Kat dropped her boots with a clomp. All business. �What�s your interest in Adam Valois?�

�The family hired me to review the case.�

�Not much to say, Clay. There�s just no evidence.�

�The more you tell me, the easier it�ll be to convince them of that.�

She sighed. �Only for you.�

She called up the Valois file, went to the Images folder. The first picture, taken at night, showed the entrance sign for Coyote Hills Regional Park.

�Ever been out there?�

I shook my head.

�There�s this trail,� she said, scrolling ahead, �runs past the old salt ponds.�

Glare filled the screen: a Mondrian landscape, flat as the Dutch countryside, immense polygons of black water intercut by turf strips and mirroring fiery cones of red and white.

It was the Fourth of July.

The camera advanced, following the trail as it curved alongside Alameda Creek toward the Bay. Fireworks gave way to red and blue emergency flashers. An ambulance sat in a gravel turnout. Two cruisers: Parks and Fremont PD. The latter would have been quicker to respond. Ultimately, though, it wasn�t their jurisdiction. And nobody was fighting to add bodies to their stats.

Beyond lay marshland and the delta. In daytime the area would be hectic with shorebirds. Sandpipers, curlews, killdeers, stilts. Now there was only waves and grass and trash.

Fifteen miles across the water to the west, San Francisco guttered and winked.

A lump lay on the mud.

Having read the autopsy protocol, I knew what to expect.

Despite that, my breath caught.

Bad shape.

Skin, facial features, hair: These boundaries define us, unify us, and the intrinsic horror we feel in their absence runs deeper than simple disgust. It�s the terror that comes with loss of self.

The flayed man speaks an obscenity. We are all the same nothing.

�Who called it in?� I asked.

�Anonymous. Detectives ran the number back to a local guy. Him and his wife biked out to watch the fireworks, stumbled onto the body.�

�Why didn�t he give his name?�

�The park closes at dusk. They didn�t want to get in trouble for trespassing.�

She moved on to the autopsy photos.

Rot and discoloration made the tattoo on Adam�s chest hard to see. Another few days in the open and it might have been lost for good. I said as much to Kat, who nodded.

�If I remember right, his girlfriend said he had another tat. On his calf, I think. But it degloved.�

The head trauma could�ve been inflicted by an assailant. Just as likely � likelier � it was damage resulting from a collision with a watercraft. The same one whose propeller had shredded his torso.

Or he could have smashed into a buoy. A bridge support. Rocks.

The East Bay coastline is lined with flinty breakwaters. He could�ve been drunk, high, staggering along the waterfront, tripped, fallen, hit his head.

I said, �You have his last seen as Saturday night.�

�Per the girlfriend. Normal behavior all that week. No talk of self-harm.�

�Phone towers?�

�His cell stayed in San Jose. Ask me about witnesses.�

�No witnesses.�

�Ding ding ding. You know what? You�re pretty good at this. We have openings.�

I smiled. �Any idea where he went into the water?�

�Coast Guard�s telling me it could be literally anywhere.�

�What did Judy say on TOD?�

�One to two weeks.�

�From last seen on.�

�Yup.�

�What about when he washed up?�

�There was a maintenance crew out the day before, doing habitat restoration, and they didn�t notice anything. So sometime during that thirty-six-hour window.�

�Leads on the drugs?�

�He didn�t have a primary care doc. Shrink, either. To get his Lexapro he belonged to some online service. Nurse practitioner talks to you for ten minutes and writes the scrip. The muscle relaxant he had in his bathroom cabinet. Six years old, bottle quarter full, so not like he was pounding it.�

�Benzo?�

�No paper trail.�

�Ketamine?�

She shook her head. �That, neither. Thanks, pal. Now you�re making me doubt myself.�

�Stand tall, Deputy. Where�d they find the vehicle?�

Kat scanned pages of case notes.

Conv Reuss EBRPD PD re dec veh loc 1800 7/26/2026 EB 500 blk 27 St (MLK Way/Northgate Ave)

She mapped it on her browser: a freeway underpass along a major thoroughfare in downtown Oakland. Miles from the ocean, through rough and industrial neighborhoods. The closest body of water wasn�t the Bay; it was Lake Merritt, to the east.

�Off the record, what�d you think of the park detectives?� I asked.

�Average.�

�Not worse than.�

�No. Maybe even a little better.�

�Do me a favor and introduce me.�

�Should I warn them about you?�

�Why don�t we keep it a surprise.�

The general line rang. Over in her cubicle, Deputy Lopez answered. Coroner�s Bureau.

Kat swiveled in her chair. �What did the private autopsy say?�

�You haven�t seen it?�

�Their lawyer sent it to me. I didn�t look.�

I called up the TruPath PDF and handed her my laptop.

She skimmed. I could tell when she�d reached the end because she looked like she wanted to hurl the computer against the wall.

�The fuck is a �possible homicide�?�

She shut the laptop, none too gently, and rubbed her eyes. �This shit is so harmful.�

�I know.�

Lopez was taking down details, her voice drifting through the hush.

�How�d the parents find you?� Kat asked.

�Friend of a friend.�

�I�m not going to tell you how to run your business, Clay. But let me put it this way: I didn�t have a choice to work with them or not. You do.�

Hearing the edge in her own voice, she dialed it down a notch: �I feel for them. You know that. But getting your lawyer to yell at me doesn�t change the standard of proof.�

I nodded.

Lopez stood and rapped the cubicle wall. �We�re up.�

Kat reached for her ballistic vest. �Duty calls.�

�One last favor,� I said. �I need a file. You�re gonna have to order it from storage.�

She slid me a Post-it pad and pen.

�DOD is spring 2024,� I said, writing. �April or May. You�ll find it.�

I peeled off the note and gave it to her.

She said, �Who�s Dennis Kudelka?�

�Drowning case.�

�Yours?�

�Shoops was primary,� I said. �I helped.�

�Claaay. What�s going on here.�

�Nothing�s going on. I�m just curious.�

�Yeah.� She stuck the Post-it to her monitor. �That�s what I�m worried about.�

Olivia Parisi lived in Northside, a prewar neighborhood lined with converted Victorians. She came to the door dressed for work � charcoal trousers, matching blazer, ivory scoop-neck shirt. She was five-five, slightly pear-shaped, and conventionally pretty, with an upturned nose and a pointy chin bearing a small cleft. Ash-blond hair, medium-brown roots. By far her most striking feature was her eyes, their gray one shade lighter than the slate-colored Persian cat in her arms.

�Sorry.� Apologetic smile. Evidently her perks included an employee discount on whitening treatments. �He�s a runner. Please.�

We followed her in. She set the animal down and it fled to a back room.

The living-eating area was IKEA with a splash of Target. Olivia invited us to the sofa but drew up short; fur blanketed the upholstery.

�Dangit.� She ran to the kitchen for a lint roller, began sweeping furiously. �I vacuumed yesterday. It�s so gross. Oh my God, look at me.� Rolling her clothing.

�What�s his name?� Regina asked.

Olivia smiled again. Proud pet mom. �Owen. He�s a stinker, but I love him... Okay. I think it�s safe now.�

She pulled over a dining chair, sat opposite us with her hands in her lap, and did one quick inhale-exhale. �Whew. Sorry about that.�

I took out the voice recorder. �All right for me to tape this?�

�Sure.�

Regina said, �Thanks again for taking the time.�

�It�s fine. I�ve already talked to so many people, you know? After a while you�re running on autopilot.�

�I bet. Why don�t you start by telling us how you met Adam?�

Olivia named a popular dating app. �He DM�d me like five times. I was about to block him. Then he sent this poem. �Roses are red, Michael Jackson sang �Thriller,� I promise I�m not a serial killer.� I was like, �Fine, you win.� �

Regina matched her smile. Perfect tone and temperature. �Cute.�

�Yeah. Although, maybe he�s saying that because he is a serial killer, right? �Cause who comes right out and tells you they�re not a serial killer?�

�Except a serial killer.�

�Exactly,� Olivia said.

They shared a laugh.

In the space of sixty seconds, everything about Olivia Parisi had changed: her posture easing, her voice lighter. I�d seen Regina work her magic before, but it was always impressive to witness.

�We were messaging for a while before I agreed to meet him in person,� Olivia said. �I was so used to guys who seem nice and normal, then next thing they�re asking for nudes or sending you pictures of their � you know. So I definitely had my guard up. Actually, it�s kind of a funny story: I have this app, like a safety thing, for dating? It calls you at a preset time. You pick up and say Yes if you want to stay or Hi if you need to bail. If you say Hi, it starts playing this recording of a woman crying and saying Please come right now. It�s really loud, so the guy can overhear it. You hang up and go Gosh, I�m so sorry, I have to leave, it�s a family emergency.�

�Wow, I love that idea,� Regina said.

�Right? It�s so good. And the name, oh my God... It�s called Grandma Died.�

We all laughed together, bringing me into the mix.

Olivia crossed her legs. �Anyway, the first time I met Adam, we�re having coffee, talking, getting to know each other. My phone rings with the app. I�m having fun, so I pick up and go, �Yes.� It waits a while, then calls again. I had mine set to call every fifteen minutes. Usually thirty minutes is way more than enough. Me and him, though, we�re really hitting it off. I don�t want to leave. But it just keeps on calling. If you don�t answer, it tries again, two minutes later, and after four tries it calls 911. I�m under the table� � she mimed typing with her thumbs � �trying to get it to stop, and he�s staring at me. �Are you okay? Do you need to take that?� �Oh yeah, no, it�s... telemarketers.� Finally I went to the bathroom and shut off my phone.�

�Good date,� Regina said.

�Amazing. Everything was so easy and natural. I remember feeling sad when it ended, �cause I was sure he�d ghost. But he called the next day.�

She gnawed a cuticle. �Honestly, I don�t know what he saw in me. He�s this artistic spirit, and I�m just... me. But I�m grateful.�

Like Adam�s mother, she was weaving in and out of the present tense, unable to land.

�You were together for a while,� Regina said.

�Four years, eight months.�

�Did you ever discuss getting married?�

�All the time.�

�What stopped you?�

A wry smile. �You met his parents.�

�They didn�t approve.�

�I mean,� Olivia said, �they didn�t disapprove. Not out loud. His mom�s super polite. His dad... isn�t. But I almost prefer that, at least he�s honest. In the beginning, they made a point of saying how they wanted to get to know me. They�d invite us for dinner, then ignore me and talk about his dad�s research or some fundraiser his mom was organizing. I had nothing to contribute. It wasn�t my world. My dad left when I was two, my mom raised me by herself. We didn�t like, starve, but... The first time Adam brought me to his parents� house I was like, �Holy macaroni.� �

Regina smiled. �That�s what I said, too.�

Olivia laughed softly. �Yeah. And I was surprised, �cause he�s so down-to-earth. It made me like him even more. He was always apologizing for them. �I�m so sorry, they�re ridiculous. We don�t have to do that ever again.� Or he�d talk about eloping. I appreciate that he was trying to make me feel better. But we both knew he couldn�t, it wasn�t... realistic.�

�Why not?�

�Well, for one, I didn�t want to come between him and his family. I�m not that kind of person. Plus he depended on them.�

�Financially? Emotionally?�

�Financially. They paid for his car, paid his rent. Most of his jobs came through his mom. She�s on all these boards. He�ll shoot the galas, do video presentations. She introduced him to people. Adam jokes about it. �Thank God for white privilege.� �

Regina said, �He felt conflicted.�

�For sure. But he never turned down the work. He couldn�t, not unless he wanted to start over on his own. That�s why we didn�t live together, because we knew it�d make things way too complicated. Also, I�m pretty OCD, and his place,� she said, laughing, �is a disaster. Anyway... I hoped they�d warm up, or at least get used to me. We both love the same person, right? Then it... happened, and we�re thrown together, the three of us, twenty-four seven. Like, really? This is what it takes? He has to, to��

She covered her face and let out a sharp sob.

�I�m sorry,� she mumbled.

I took out a mini-packet of tissues � a habit from my coroner days.

�Thank you.� Olivia wiped her eyes, smearing mascara. �Uch. Dangit.�

�Do you need a break?� Regina said.

�It�s fine. I�m gonna have to redo my makeup, we may as well get it over with.�

�Just say the word.�

�Thank you.�

She blew her nose, and Regina shot me a nod. Tag, you�re it.

�When you�re ready,� I said, �I�d like to talk about Adam�s disappearance.�

Olivia crumpled the tissue loosely in her hand. �I�m ready.�

�You last saw Adam on Saturday night, June 20. Is that correct?�

�Yes.�

�Take me through the week leading up to that.�

�I didn�t see him that much. Usually we have dinner together a couple times a week, but he was super busy with this project he needed to finish.�

�What was he working on?�

�A corporate thing. I�m not really sure. We were looking forward to seeing each other, because it had been a few days.�

�He came here, to your place.�

She nodded.

�What time was that?�

�Around five, I think.�

�How would you describe his mood?�

�I mean... Normal Adam.�

�Did he seem agitated, or nervous? Like he had something on his mind?�

�No. Or. I didn�t notice anything.�

�What did you do?�

�Ordered sushi and watched a movie.�

�Anything good?� Regina asked.

Olivia rolled her eyes. �Some art film. He liked that stuff. Honestly, I wasn�t paying attention, I was on my phone.�

�Did he discuss his plans for the following days?� I asked.

�He just said he had a ton of work. Maybe he seemed a little stressed about that.�

�Did you drink?�

�Wine, with the sushi.�

�Use any drugs?�

Olivia hesitated.

�No judgment,� Regina said. �But it�s important to have a complete picture.�

�We split an edible. But nothing else.�

�Okay. Thank you for your honesty.�

I said, �Anything else you can remember about that night that might be relevant?�

�I mean.� Olivia squirmed, glanced at Regina. �We had sex. I don�t know if that matters.�

�You�re doing great,� Regina said. �You�re also allowed to say I don�t know. Don�t feel that you have to give an answer just for the sake of saying something.�

Olivia nodded and looked at her lap.

�What time did Adam leave?� I asked.

She glanced up. Relieved at a neutral question. �Ten or ten-thirty.�

�In the morning.�

�No, at night. He didn�t stay over, he went home to sleep.�

�Was that typical?�

�Not always but sometimes. He wanted to get up early and work out before he had to start editing again. His gym is right around the corner from his condo. So it made more sense for him to go home. He�s a morning person anyway.�

�And you�re not,� Regina said.

Olivia laughed. �Nooooo.�

Regina chuckled conspiratorially.

I said, �What time did you go to bed?�

�Right after he left. I was wiped.�

�Okay, now it�s Sunday,� I said. �What happens?�

�I slept in. I woke up around... eleven? After that... I went for a run, I think. Cleaned, did laundry, I always do that on Sunday. There was leftover sushi, I think I had that for dinner.� Shrug. �Nothing too exciting.�

�Did you hear from Adam?�

�I texted him to see how it was going, but he didn�t answer. He�ll put his phone on Do Not Disturb when he wants to concentrate.�

�Okay. Now it�s Monday morning. Had he answered you, overnight?�

�No.�

�Were you concerned?� Regina asked.

�Not really. Like I said, he was working. I figured he was up late.�

�What did you do that day?� I asked.

�Got up, fed Owen, took a shower, and went to work. I texted Adam to ask if he needed me to bring him anything, or if he wanted to come over later. He didn�t answer. I was pretty sure he was just busy. But he also gets migraines. When it happens he has to shut off his screens and lie in the dark. So I was starting to worry about that. After work I decided to swing by his place to check on him. I let myself in but nobody was home.�

�What time was that?� I asked.

�The office is in Alviso and he lives downtown, so... Sixish.�

�Okay. And what was your initial reaction, when he wasn�t home?�

�I feel awful saying it. But the first thing I thought was he must be with someone.�

�With someone, as in?� Regina asked.

Olivia bit her lip. �Another woman.�

�Had he cheated on you before?�

�No. I mean, I don�t think so. He never gave me a reason to be suspicious. That�s just where my mind went. I guess it was better than thinking something bad had happened to him.�

I nodded. �What did you do next?�

�Called his gym. I thought maybe he got a late start. The guy told me Adam hadn�t been in since Saturday morning. Now I was starting to worry for real. Like, what if he got into an accident? I tried calling him. As it�s ringing, I hear buzzing. I go into the bathroom and...� She swallowed. �His phone�s sitting on top of the toilet. That�s when I started freaking out. �Cause he wouldn�t leave his phone. That�s � it�s not normal.�

�Was there any sign of a struggle? Was anything taken?�

�Not that I could see. It just felt... I don�t know. Wrong. I can�t explain it. I started texting our friends. I called his mom, she didn�t pick up. I didn�t have his dad�s number. I do now, but... So,� she said, frowning, �I tried his sister. Kirsten.�

I said, �Do you remember what time that was?�

�It must�ve been around seven or eight.�

�What did Kirsten say?�

�She made it out like I was exaggerating. She asked if his car was there. I went down to the garage. It wasn�t in its spot. She goes, �See? He probably had to run an errand.� What she was saying made sense, but... the phone? I told her: Something�s wrong, I can feel it. She goes, �Everyone has feelings. Your feelings aren�t reality.� �

�You haven�t mentioned her till now,� Regina said. �When you were talking about Adam�s family, for example.�

�Yeah. I... It�s complicated.�

�Between you and her.�

�Sort of, but more her and Adam.�

�How so?�

�They�re just very different people. She�s this big lawyer. Her husband, too. Adam didn�t like to be around her �cause she criticized him constantly.�

�About?�

�His life choices, his job, everything. She thought he was lazy.�

�Does �everything� include you?�

Olivia laughed grimly. �What do you think.�

�After you spoke to Kirsten,� I said, �what did you do?�

�I drove home, hoping I�d missed him somehow, but he wasn�t here, either, so I got in the car and started driving around, for hours, looking for him. At like three in the morning I went back to his apartment to wait for him.�

�You must�ve been so scared,� Regina said.

�I was losing it. I didn�t sleep at all. My brain was going a hundred miles an hour. What if he�s hurt, or � I don�t know. His parents are rich, maybe someone kidnapped him. The next day I went to his gym as soon as it opened. I called in sick, I checked all the places we liked to go, I was calling everyone and texting them.�

�Did you call the police?� I asked.

�I thought you can�t report someone missing for twenty-four hours. I know now that�s not right, but that�s what I thought.�

�It had been a couple of days by then, correct?�

�Yeah, but I thought you had to like start counting from... I mean, we weren�t married, so I didn�t know if I was even allowed to report it. And,� Olivia said, growing agitated, �and � Kirsten made me feel dumb for worrying. This isn�t, like, something I had any experience with.�

�Of course not,� Regina said.

�Looking back, I should�ve called them right away. I know that now, and I feel sick when I think about it. I want to throw up. I was a mess. I didn�t know what to do.�

Regina nodded.

�When did you first speak to the police?� I asked.

�I think it was the day after Adam�s parents got back from Italy.�

�Thursday the twenty-fifth.�

�I guess that�s right. Or maybe Friday? It�s a blur... His mom texted me that they were flying home. I offered to meet them at the police station but they said not to.�

�Now it�s been five or six days since you�ve seen Adam,� I said. �What were you doing in the interim?�

�Anything I could think of. I put it on IG and Facebook, I was driving around nonstop.�

�His father told me you organized a search.�

�I did my best. Our friends were really helpful, we made a grid of the neighborhood and put up posters.�

She�d spoken to detectives three times: once in San Jose after the discovery of the body and twice at the Regional Parks PD headquarters in Castro Valley, before and after the discovery of the car. In one respect, at least, she agreed with Rick Valois.

�They just decided to blame Adam.� Her fists were clenched. �Like it�s his fault he�s dead.�

I asked about the toxicology.

�I told the police about the wine and the edible,� she said. �The rest of it, I don�t know. I don�t even remember what it was.�

�Ketamine, plus three prescription drugs: Lexapro, Versed, and Flexeril.�

�Okay, Lexapro, he takes that.�

�What for?�

�Just regular stuff.�

�Like?�

�Anxiety. I take it, too.�

�Adam�s parents told us he was hospitalized in college,� Regina said.

�He went through a rough patch. He didn�t like to talk about it, I respected that.�

�Did you ever sense he was struggling with his mental health?� I asked.

�No. But � hang on. You said Versed.�

I nodded.

�Okay,� Olivia said. �He had a dentist appointment.�

�When?�

�The week before. He goes to the practice where I work. I forgot till you reminded me.�

�Did they give him a sedative?�

�Probably. It�s what they give me. Adam hates doctors� offices, he gets super nervous. I could check with Dr. Rangchi. I�m not sure she�d tell me, but I can ask.�

�Did you mention this to the police?�

�I don�t know. It may have slipped my mind. There was a lot going on.�

�Ketamine?� I said.

Olivia shook her head. �I�ve never seen him use it.�

�How about with other friends?�

�No. That�s not who we... It�s not us, all right?� A beat. �It�s upsetting to think about. You know? Him keeping that from me.�

Regina nodded. �Tell us about his social circle.�

�Me, mostly. Honestly, it wasn�t healthy. I told him he needed to get out more.�

�What about the people who helped you look for him?�

�Those are my friends, through work and stuff. We did have some couples we went out with, but not often. I can make a list for you.�

�That�d be great, thanks,� Regina said.

�Anyone else?� I asked.

�A gym buddy?� Olivia said. �Wes something.�

�Rick and Liz mentioned Trevor Vogel,� I said.

�...yeah.�

�You know him.�

�Adam�s been friends with him forever. He�s kind of... sketchy.�

�Rick said Adam used to visit Trevor in Oakland.�

�Well, yeah,� Olivia said. �He was making a movie about him.�

�About � Trevor?�

�This is the project Adam worked on in his spare time?� Regina asked.

Olivia nodded.

�It�s what,� I said. �A documentary?�

�Kind of?� she said.

�How would you describe it?�

�I�ve only seen bits and pieces. Adam wanted me to wait till it was done. Basically they�d just sit around and talk while the camera ran.�

�Talk about what?� Regina asked.

�Random stuff. Their friendship.�

�Was there conflict between them?�

�Conflict...? Not really. I mean, I think Trevor must have resented him at least a little. �Cause their lives turned out so different, you know?�

�Do you have Trevor�s contact information?� I asked. �Know where he lives?�

Olivia shook her head. �I didn�t, like, hang out with him.� Another beat. �Adam used to loan him money.�

�What for?�

�I don�t... It wasn�t much, a couple hundred dollars at a time.�

�Loan,� Regina said. �Or give?�

�Yeah. Give.�

�Before Adam went missing,� I asked, �did he say anything about intending to see Trevor in the coming days?�

�No.�

�Did Trevor call or text him?�

�I don�t know.� Olivia fretted. �Look, I don�t want to get someone in trouble for no reason.�

�We understand,� Regina said.

�Any chance you can send us the footage of their conversations?� I asked.

�I don�t have it. Everything was on Adam�s computer, the cops took it when they searched his apartment.� Olivia checked her watch. �Sorry. I need to get going.�

�Thanks for your help,� Regina said. �We�ll be in touch.�

As we headed for the door, Olivia spoke behind us: �Hey you.�

We turned back. She was addressing Owen the cat, who had reappeared in the living room and was staring at us with copper-colored eyes.

Olivia knelt to gather the animal against her chest.

�He can tell.� She ran her fingers along its neck. �When I�m upset.�

He led us to a conference room blessed with an asthmatic window AC. On the table were a pair of banker�s boxes and a laptop connected to a whiteboard projector.

�Sorry my partner can�t be here,� he said, shutting the door. �Her daughter�s down with a stomach bug. Hey, I didn�t offer you anything. Coffee, tea, and water, or there�s a vending machine.�

�I�m good, thanks,� Regina said.

�Clay?�

�Good for now.�

Kinney swept an arm toward the table. �This is it, in terms of paperwork. Couple boxes still in the cage. Why don�t we go over it, figure out how we can help each other.�

�Sounds great.�

He took us through the initial reports.

I said, �Kat said you looked at the guy who called 911.�

�For about ten seconds,� Kinney said. �He was more scared we�d bust him for being in the park after dark.�

Following identification of the body, the detectives had worked on reconstructing Adam Valois�s movements in the days leading up to his disappearance.

It helped that he was a creature of habit. CCTV footage, cellphone tower data, eyewitnesses, text messages, emails, and credit card activity corroborated Olivia Parisi�s story: Adam had spent much of that week holed up in his downtown condo, leaving only to walk the block and a half to Fin City Fitness or grab food.

The workout buddy Olivia had mentioned was a man named Wes Lau, who�d noticed nothing out of the ordinary in Adam�s demeanor.

At 12:44 p.m. on Saturday, June 20, lobby cameras showed Adam coming home, dressed in workout clothes and carrying a Chipotle bag. He exited the elevator on the ninth floor and walked to his unit. From then on, his phone stopped moving.

�Saturday?� I said. �He didn�t take it with him to Olivia�s?�

�Seems that way.�

�She said he never went anywhere without his phone,� Regina said.

�Yeah, well, he could�ve forgot. He had his hands full.� Kinney brought up a new CCTV clip on the whiteboard. �Check it out.�

Same day, 4:42 p.m., subterranean parking garage. Adam entered the frame. He�d changed into jeans and a fitted T-shirt, had a bounce in his step.

A guy whose evening plans included sushi, a movie, and, hopefully, sex.

The main difference being that he was wheeling a large, rectangular hardshell case.

Kinney hit Pause, freezing Adam in mid-stride. The case was deep, rugged, and blocky � the kind used to protect and transport delicate cargo. Cameras, electronics, firearms. It trailed behind him like a misshapen shadow.

�Olivia didn�t mention that to us,� I said.

�She says he didn�t have it on him when he got to her place,� Kinney said.

�Do we know what�s inside?� Regina asked.

�Well, he�s a video guy. So my money says video stuff. But I�m open to suggestions.�

Regina said, �Was anything missing from his apartment?�

Kinney smiled faintly. He clicked a photo subfolder: Vic Resid. �You tell me.�

Adam Valois�s condo hewed to the Silicon Valley aesthetic � clean lines, sheet glass � but had been modified to suit its occupant�s quirks. Blackout curtains nullified the views, for work reasons or for migraines or both. He�d added acoustic baffling to the walls and ceiling. Everywhere was AV gear: cameras, stands, booms, studio lights, backdrops, power packs, parabolic umbrellas. More hardshell cases, along with a softbox. The editing station featured a jumbo display and a mesh chair to alleviate back strain.

Expensive chaos.

Regina said, �I found Waldo.�

Kinney gave a good-natured chuckle and closed out the folder. �You get the gist.�

I said, �Video in the case is logical. But what�s he doing with it on a Saturday night, when he�s supposed to be hanging out with his girlfriend?�

�We wondered about that, too,� Kinney said. �Our first thought was he had a job the next morning, so he loaded up the night before. But the next gig on his calendar�s a week out. So then we started wondering if he dropped it off along the way.�

�Where?�

Kinney turned up his palms. �Loaning it to a friend? Or selling off stuff he didn�t need. You saw his place. He had all kinds of junk in there, analog, camcorders, VHS.�

�A collector.�

�One man�s collector is another man�s pack rat. We went through his messages, looking for him setting up a meet with a buyer. Nada. Everyone we talked to denies borrowing anything from him.�

�Olivia told us they had sex Saturday night,� Regina said. �Maybe they made a movie together.�

�Keeping it spicy, huh,� Kinney said. �Yeah, could be. Either way, the box wasn�t in the vehicle when Oakland recovered it.�

He clicked another subfolder. Vic Vehic.

Dark-blue Mazda hatchback, worked over: windows smashed, hubcaps missing.

�Does he have a connection to that neighborhood?� I asked.

�None,� Kinney said. �Fact of the matter is, we don�t have a single piece of evidence he was physically there. He didn�t stop for gas, didn�t ping a toll plaza or hit a red-light camera. There�s Caltrans cameras on 880, but we�re talking about a huge window, time-wise.�

�And it�s a common car.�

Kinney nodded. �We suspect it was stolen and dumped.�

I said, �What if the stuff in the case isn�t video equipment.�

�What, then?�

�Drugs. Guns.�

�Nothing about him suggests he�s mixed up in that kinda shit.�

�I�m just trying to think of where the case might�ve gotten to,� I said. �If he�s carrying something illegal, that�s a good reason to leave his phone behind, so he can�t be tracked.�

�Fine, but it�s on top of the toilet. To me it makes more sense he was in a rush. Anyway, you forget things when you�re high.�

�You think he used before he got to her place,� I said.

�Who knows? She swears up and down they didn�t touch anything harder than alcohol and weed. So either he pre-gamed, she�s lying, or he left her place and got high on his own. But him being some sorta dope kingpin? Feels a bridge too far, y�know? I should mention, too: We looked into whether he had a second phone. Nada.�

�Burner?� I asked.

�Not on the credit cards. �Course he coulda paid cash.�

Kinney shut the laptop, blanking the whiteboard. �I get where you�re coming from. �Cause yeah, it�s frickin weird. He�s dragging around this big honking thing, and it just vanishes. Then he vanishes.�

�What�s the last confirmed sighting?�

�Six fifteen p.m. Saturday. They ordered food. Delivery guy remembers handing him a bag. After that, it�s her word.�

�Any reason to doubt her?� Regina asked.

�She�s been cooperative. Friends describe them as in love. The neighbors don�t report hearing noise or shouting or anything that suggests a fight. Her apartment looked orderly. No judge in the world�s gonna grant me a warrant to go luminol her bathroom. I got no probable cause, and there�s simpler explanations.�

He ticked his fingers. �He goes off to score and gets jacked. Or he�s wasted and falls in by accident. Or he�s wasted and thinks he�s Aquaman and jumps in.�

�Which is your favorite?�

�I don�t have one. They�re like my kids, I love them equally.�

�Thoughts on where Adam got the drugs?� I asked.

�Weed belonged to the girlfriend. She showed my partner a digital receipt from an online dispensary. Muscle relaxant�s legit. Dentist confirmed giving him a sedative. So really we�re just talking about the K. Who the heck knows? And it�s sad: On its own, that�s probably not gonna kill him. Mix it with all this other stuff? No bueno.�

�He didn�t overdose, though,� Regina said.

�No, but you don�t want to go swimming in that state.�

I said, �His dentist appointment was the prior week?�

�I think so, yeah.�

�I�m pretty sure the Versed would be out of his system. The half-life�s short.�

�Right,� Kinney said. �Our assumption is he pocketed it for later.�

�Olivia works at that office,� Regina said. �Does she have access to the medicine closet?�

�You�re thinking she got it for him?�

�Add it to the list of things a nice girl doesn�t want to share with the cops. They give it to him at his appointment, he likes it, asks her to grab a few on her way out. Like a bowl of mints.�

�Dunno,� Kinney said. �But I also don�t know how you�d figure that out, unless they�re keeping track of every single pill.�

�What about this friend of his?� I said. �Trevor Vogel.�

As with Rick Valois, I�d spoken the magic words.

The detective sagged. �Okay. Look. Your pal at the Coroner�s Bureau speaks very highly of you, Clay. And you,� he said to Regina, �seem like a good egg.�

�Fake news,� she said.

Kinney laughed. �Point is, I�m not one of those guys gets into pissing contests. I got three daughters, okay? I have no dignity left. You can help me do my job? More power. I�m not gonna run you off a good lead for the fun of it.�

�Got it,� I said.

�Yeah. So, please. Take my word for it: Trevor Vogel is a dead end.�

�Word taken. Do you mind explaining?�

�It would make my day.�

He opened a binder. �Whatever Vogel does or does not know about Adam�s death, he wasn�t there when it happened. That�s a fact. I know, because he spent the whole of last summer in Vegas. Not at the Venetian. Clark County Detention Center.�

Kinney flipped the binder around to reveal a mugshot.

�Punched a blackjack dealer in the throat. High outta his mind. Ninety days.�

Vogel had the squarest head I�d ever seen on a human being � like a LEGO figurine, minus the little plastic halo. Choppy brown hair stabbed out in all directions; his chin tilted upward defiantly, lips parting in a gap-toothed sneer. He looked like a guy who�d just been arrested for punching a blackjack dealer in the throat. The booking placard displayed a date of 05-18-2026.

Five weeks before Adam went missing.

�Pretty solid alibi,� Regina said.

Kinney smiled. �Best in the business.�

�You told the Valoises,� I said.

�Right away. I informed their attorney in no uncertain terms that Mr. Vogel had been ruled out as the immediate perpetrator. The dad goes to me, �You need to find out if Vogel hired a hit man.� � Kinney sighed. �What�m I supposed to do with that? Guy�s a worthless POS, not John Gotti.�

�Could he know something, anyway?� I said. �Olivia told us Adam was hanging out with him on the regular, giving him money.�

�Oh, for sure. We talked to Vogel. He was the first person we talked to, in fact, after her, because the dad was so dead set on him being the bad guy. He was still locked up, so me and my partner flew out there. Hand on heart, I wasn�t ticking a box. I really thought, Let�s cover all the bases.�

�And go to Vegas,� Regina said.

Kinney chortled. �Tough job, but somebody�s gotta do it... We buy him a Pepsi, we�re taking our time, asking him about this and that. �When�d you last hear from Adam?� �How�s things between you?� Vogel doesn�t have a care in the world. He�s asking for Funyuns. Now I�m thinking, This guy is either a straight-up psychopath � and sure, he probably is � or he truly has no idea what we�re talking about. There was no processing time on his answers, like he had to remember his story. Finally we come out and tell him: Adam�s dead.� Kinney raised his palms again. �Son of a bitch starts crying.�

�Just like that?� I asked.

�Well, he did the �shut up, that�s not funny� thing first. Then he sees we�re serious and starts bawling his eyes out.�

�You can cry �cause you feel guilty,� Regina said.

�Yeah, and we played on that. He got offended at the implication. But you know how it is, sometimes you gotta ask the same question five different ways. And, not gonna lie: Their lawyer was on my back about it. We followed up once Vogel came back to Cali. He answers the door in his skivvies, starts complaining he already told us everything he knows, it�s harassment, he�s gonna sue.�

�Where�s he stay at?�

�Baby mama, up in Richmond.�

�Name?�

�Jasmine Worth. I wouldn�t bother, though. My partner went back a few weeks later to try again and she said Vogel took off. Since then he�s gone to ground.�

�Olivia told us about a movie Adam was shooting with him,� Regina said.

�It�s on a hard drive, in the cage. I haven�t watched most of it.�

�Worth a look?�

�Sure, if you have insomnia,� Kinney said. �Two idiots, yakking about nothing, for five hundred hours? I wouldn�t wish that on my worst enemy.�

�Clay has a strong stomach for monotony,� Regina said.

�Could that be the reason Adam had a camera on him?� I asked.

�To shoot what? B-roll? The guy�s one state over.� The detective�s cordiality was drying up. �Look, you asked for my opinion. I gave it to you. But you do you, boo.�

�No doubt you�ve taken it as far as it can be taken. Last question?�

�Yeah, sure.�

�Did you talk to Adam�s sister? We hear there�s bad blood.�

�Oh yeah. Big-time money, co-heir? But she also alibied out. As did her husband. As did everyone in Adam�s circle of friends. All comes down to the same problem.�

�No evidence.�

�Zee-ro. Listen, Clay. I wish I coulda done more for his parents. Not for �closure,� that�s a myth. But I hate to see how it�s eating them up. Now: Can you do one thing for me?�

�Please.�

�Give it to them straight,� Kinney said. �Maybe they�ll listen to you.�

Rancho El Bosque formed a right triangle with the Valois home and Fuller, Gilligan & Fuller, LLC�s office in downtown San Jose. The gate guard leaned from his booth to eye my elderly RAV4, deciding whether to redirect me to the service entrance.

He waved me through with a stern reminder that the speed limit was five miles per hour.

Greenbelts insulated the grounds from the surrounding suburbs: quiet on quiet, punctuated by the occasional tink of a tee shot.

I pulled beneath the clubhouse overhang, activating a stable of valets. They didn�t betray any disappointment at the car. I could be a billionaire. Silicon Valley is funny.

The restaurant hostess escorted me to a private room.

Fuller, Gilligan & Fuller, LLC�s website listed nineteen attorneys, including Shelby Fuller III, a white-haired, Stanford-educated lion of the law, and his ruddy, thick-necked, Stanford-educated scion, Shelby IV. Partners both. I wasn�t sure whom to expect behind the paneled door.

Drumroll, please...

�El Cuarto!

Five-ten, late thirties, with chestnut-brown hair thinning but meticulously groomed. His office had granted our meeting with the proviso that Mr. Fuller had a four p.m. tee time. He was ready for it: formfitting robin�s egg golf trousers and an argyle double-knit shirt in and out of fashion fifty times in as many years. Gold wedding band, gold class ring with a big S overlaid on a red stone.

Mine, from Cal, had a blue stone. I hadn�t wanted it, but my parents had insisted. It occupied a place of honor at the bottom of a sock drawer.

Two dozen chairs circled a mahogany table the size of a skating rink, set with a carafe of iced tea, tumblers, and a non-disclosure agreement.

Shelby Fuller IV said, �Read it if you like.�

As I did, he said, �I had our people look you up.�

�Who�s your people?�

�The Ackerman Group.�

Multi-city power hitters, corporate investigations, mostly. �What was their verdict?�

�I�m here, aren�t I?�

The NDA had two sections. Part one covered today�s conversation and any future conversations with Fuller, binding me to secrecy. Part two was retroactive, covering all conversations, past and future, with the Valoises. In the event that I violated the terms, I forfeited my firstborn and was cursed to the seventh generation.

�My contract already includes a confidentiality clause,� I said.

Fuller smiled sourly. �Trust but verify.�

�I�m fine with the second part, but I can�t not tell Rick and Liz about our conversation. That defeats the purpose.�

He sighed. Gestured for the NDA.

Taking out a gold-and-malachite pen, he struck through a handful of clauses, added carets.

�Happy?� he asked.

I scanned. �Yes. Can I borrow your pen?�

�You may.�

He watched me sign, waited for me to give the pen back � as though I might try to swipe it. In fairness, it was a pretty nice pen.

�How can I help you, Mr. Edison?�

�Walk me through what you�ve done.�

He reviewed the playbook: writing letters, making calls, massaging connections, pulling strings, purring threats. Not content to limit himself to the investigating jurisdiction, he�d contacted law enforcement at the county and state levels, plus council members, supervisors, representatives, and party chairs.

I said, �That�s a lot.�

�A lot of nothing,� he said. �The DA retains broad discretion, and without solid evidence leading to an arrest, there�s little I � or anyone � can do. Enter you.�

His tone put me on par with a psychic or ghost hunter.

I said, �Why isn�t Ackerman handling the case?�

�The Valoises were dissatisfied with their work.�

�They were,� I said, �or Rick was?�

Fuller poured himself iced tea and ignored the question.

I said, �Your firm specializes in corporate law.�

�For the most part.�

�An individual family like the Valoises wouldn�t be your standard client.�

�The Valoises aren�t a standard family.�

�How did you come to represent them?�

�Elizabeth�s father ran a local bank that expanded. She inherited the majority stake, eight or ten branches up and down the peninsula. Wells Fargo bought them out. My father represented her during the acquisition.�

�A relationship you inherited.�

�We don�t do it for anyone else.�

�Stop me when I�m wrong,� I said. �Personally, you feel this is a fool�s errand. But Liz does what Rick says, and you do what she says, and you�re not going to turn down billable hours.�

�Would you?�

�I�m here, aren�t I?�

Fuller laughed. I often got that same laugh from attorneys.

For a hired hand, you�re not so dumb.

�I read the autopsy reports,� I said. �There are a number of things Rick left out. Makes me wonder what else he editorialized about.�

�Such as.�

�He said Adam had never been arrested.�

�And?�

�He said it a little louder than I thought necessary.�

�It�s true.�

�True because it never happened?� I said. �Or because you had it sealed?�

�Not I.�

�Your father, then.�

Shelby Fuller IV tapped the NDA. �Remember signing this?�

�It was thirty minutes ago.�

�Just reminding you. As a courtesy.�

I nodded. �Rock-solid.�

He said, �Adam, in his adolescent wisdom, brought a gun to school. Unloaded, as I recall. It wasn�t his gun, either, it belonged to a friend�s parents.�

�Which friend?�

�A troubled kid named Trevor Vogel.�

�Was he arrested, too?�

�Yes, although the charges were dropped after Adam insisted he�d removed the gun from the Vogel home without their knowledge.�

�Fallout?�

�Not that bad. The judge was inclined to chalk Adam�s behavior up to youthful indiscretion. Afterward Rick had my father petition for an order of protection.�

�Against Vogel.�

Fuller nodded. �Denied, as he and Adam were both minors. In retrospect, it wasn�t an unreasonable request. Vogel went on to do a couple of stints in jail.�

�Possession with intent and assault.�

He regarded me with new appreciation. �Correct. I�ll have you know that I pleaded with the detectives to look into him. They said they�d take it under advisement, which, as you know, is cop-speak for �Go fuck yourself.� �

�Not always,� I said. �Sometimes it means �You�re a fucking idiot.� �

Fuller allowed himself a genuine smile. �Ah. Nuance.�

�Where do I find Vogel?�

�Our people came up empty.�

�Maybe that�s why Rick was dissatisfied.�

�Better luck to you.�

�Did Adam have other run-ins with the law?�

�Not even a speeding ticket.�

�What can you tell me about Olivia Parisi?�

�Not very much.�

�They had you vet me. You must have done at least that much with her.�

�Trust but verify.�

�Anything pop up?�

He shook his head.

�Any other matters in which your firm represented Adam?�

�None.�

�Anything else I should know?�

He thought a moment, then said, �Come with me.�

Jasmine Worth lived in the Iron Triangle, a gritty Richmond neighborhood dotted with Section 8 housing. Her unit was on the ground floor of a chartreuse stucco duplex with a bowed roof. The door was open for ventilation but blocked by a heavy-duty security gate on crumbling hinges. Inside, a television droned the Peppa Pig theme song.

My knock drew a blurry, backlit shape to the perforated steel.

A female voice said, �Yes?�

�Hi there. I�m looking for Jasmine.�

�She�s at work.�

�Right. Remind me where that is?�

�Who�re you?�

�A friend.�

�You�re her friend, you don�t know where she works?�

A child called out: �Nana Wee, who is it?�

�Nobody, baby,� the woman said.

Behind the grate, she started to shut the door.

�Wait, please,� I said. �I�m looking for Trevor Vogel.�

The woman paused. �That�s not what you said.�

�I�m having trouble reaching him. I thought Jasmine might be able to connect me.�

�You�re police.�

�No, ma�am. Private investigator.�

�What do you want with that one?�

�Talk to him.�

�Is he in trouble?�

Enough scorn in her voice for me to take a chance: �Do you want him to be?�

That earned a snicker. �Hold on.�

She unlocked the grate and pushed it outward, forcing me to step back.

She was fifties, Black, bird-like, wearing a brocaded housecoat and cradling an infant in one arm. Behind them, a girl of four kept a watchful distance.

I waved to her. �Hello.�

She turned and fled.

�Don�t mind her,� the woman said.

�Nice to meet you, ma�am. I�m Clay.�

�Louisa.�

I smiled at the baby � six months or so, alert but silent, gazing up at me with huge, chocolate-brown eyes. �What�s your name?�

�This is London.�

�Hello, London. You�re beautiful.�

�Yes she is.�

�They�re Jasmine�s?�

Louisa nodded.

�Trevor�s?�

�You wouldn�t know it, from the way he acts.�

The baby�s age suggested conception right before Trevor embarked on his Las Vegas misadventure. Nice timing, Pops.

I said, �You�re grandma?�

�No sir, I just live upstairs.�

�When�s the last time he came around?�

�He doesn�t. I don�t allow it.�

�Problems.�

�Oh yes,� Louisa said. She looked at London, as if for confirmation. �Drugs, fighting. I had to call the police on them more than once. I told him, �You lay a finger on those children, I�ll take care of you myself.� �

I smiled. �You would, too.�

�He never tried to find out.�

�Was Trevor dealing?�

�Mm-hm. And using, I could smell it through the vents. I had people showing up in the middle of the night, ringing my bell. I told Jasmine she didn�t put an end to it, there�d be hell to pay.�

�Does she still see him?�

�If she does, she�s smart enough not to tell me.�

London mewled. Louisa began to twist gently at the waist. �I don�t understand what gets into that girl. I told her: �Have some self-respect. He�s living in your home, eating your food, bringing trouble to your doorstep.� �

I showed her a photo of Adam on my phone. �Recognize this individual?�

She nodded. �I saw them together.�

�Him and Trevor.�

�Yes sir. He came knocking once. He said his cable wasn�t working right, wanted to know if he could borrow mine. I said, �You want to watch my TV?� �No, no, a cable. Like a wire, for a camera.� I told him, �You�re barking up the wrong tree.� �

�Thank you, ma�am. That�s really helpful.�

�You say so.�

�I�d love to speak with Jasmine, if possible.�

�Leave me your number, I�ll tell her you were here.�

�It�s not her I�m interested in, just Trevor. I give you my word.�

�Your word?� she said. �Friend, I don�t know you from a bowl of beans.�

�You want to keep Trevor away from her.�

She regarded me skeptically. �And you can do that?�

�I won�t know until I talk to him.�

The four-year-old poked her head out. �Nana Wee?�

�Go watch TV, honey.�

�I need help.�

�I�ll be there in a minute. Go on.�

The girl vanished.

Louisa said, �You got a card?�

I gave her one. She read it over and tucked it in her housecoat. Fixed her eyes on mine. �Promise me again.�

�I�m not interested in Jasmine. You have my word.�

�You sound righteous. But you better not make me regret it.�

�No, ma�am.�

She shifted her weight onto one hip. �She�s at the Home Depot in Emeryville.�

�Thanks very much. What time does she get off?�

�Ten-thirty. She takes the bus, so I don�t see her back till round midnight.�

�Long day.�

�She�s trying.�

�Nice of you to help.�

�Oh, I don�t mind. I didn�t get my own.� Louisa tickled London�s nose. �But I got you.�

The baby cooed and broke into a one-toothed smile.

We took our cans out to the patio. The backyard was a tidy little gem. Honeybees and butterflies congregated in the wisteria. A wall fountain gurgled. The Shupfers had done the work themselves, incising flower beds, planting dwarf citrus, laying pathways, building a pergola. She didn�t seem the least bit sentimental about leaving it.

�Sticks and bricks,� she said.

I sipped lukewarm iced espresso and swiped through pictures of their new house, on three and a half acres, twenty minutes from downtown Boise. All their neighbors were expat Californians. Ron�s first task upon arrival was applying for Idaho plates.

�Kat said you�re not having a goodbye party.�

�I don�t want one.�

�It�s not for you, Shoops, it�s for everyone else.�

�They�ll live.� The pergola beams striped her doughy face with shadow; I noticed a new looseness in her cheeks and neck, gray filaments woven through her frizzy hair.

�We�re talking Denny Kudelka,� she said.

I showed her Adam Valois�s private autopsy report. After so many years on the job, she�d seen enough not to react to the verdict of �possible homicide.� Then she read the tox screen and the corners of her mouth wilted.

She was seeing the same thing I�d seen. Remembering, as I�d remembered.

She got up and went inside. I heard her rummaging in boxes.

�You want help?� I called.

�Stay there.�

I finished my coffee, counted butterflies.

Reemerging with a green plastic document holder, she undid the Velcro and shook the Kudelka file, fist-thick, onto the table.

�All right, Edison,� she said. �Memory lane.�

�How was camp?� I asked, rubbing shampoo into Charlotte�s hair.

�Fun,� she said.

�What did you do?�

�Made slime. Mine was green and I used blue glitter.�

�Nice. Look up.� I rinsed her hair with water from a plastic whale and reached for the conditioner. The bottle squelched, down to its last quarter inch.

�Farted,� Myles said.

�That�s right, bud,� I said. �The bottle farted.�

My phone was ringing on the sink. Regina.

I answered and tapped Speaker with a wet pinkie. �Yo.�

�What the fuck is this shit?�

�Hi, Auntie Regina,� Charlotte said.

�Oh shi � ssshhhoot. Hey, Charlotte.�

�Why are you mad?�

�I�m not mad.�

�You sound mad.�

� �Cause I have to work with your daddy.�

�Don�t say that. My daddy is the best.�

�I stand corrected.�

Myles waved at the phone.

�Myles is waving,� Charlotte said.

�Hi, Myles,� Regina said.

�Farted,� Myles said.

�Who did?�

�He wants you to know that the bottle farted,� I said.

�Ooh, I hate when they do that.�

I dried my hands and put the phone to my ear. �You get what I sent you?�

�Yeah, I got it. Do I look like I speak dork?�

I explained, directing her to the color-coded shoreline map.

�You�re saying this doesn�t tell us anything,� she said.

�We�ll see. I�m heading out to Sausalito tomorrow. Word from Adam�s sister?�

�Radio silence.�

�I can stop by her place. It�s on the way.�

�Hands off my woman.�

�I�m trying to save you a trip, Regina.�

�I�ll meet you there at eight.�

We followed him through the exhibit, past habitat dioramas and learning stations, placards printed in optimistic, futuristic 1950s font. During the school year, the place would be filled with shrieking kids; in summer, the sole other visitor was a Black man in his seventies wearing a Vietnam Veteran cap.

A jerky educational film preached to empty seats.

Water, our most precious natural resource...

In the chilly main hall, the model sprawled out in a giant horseshoe, wrapping around pillars, turning corners, too vast for us to see the whole thing. It looked as though someone had begun digging out an absurdly large swimming pool, gotten two feet deep, and quit.

As with the color-coded map Shoops had shown me, only water mattered: the four smaller bays that combined to form San Francisco Bay, the rivers that fed them, estuaries and inlets and coves. All the surrounding land existed as an afterthought � featureless concrete for visitors to walk on.

Regina paused, trying to get her bearings.

�Think like a fish,� I said.

�The fuck does that mean?�

Brenner marched south. �After me.�

City signs placed along the coastline helped to orient us. We trampled an invisible Albany, an implied Berkeley. Ten paces separated Oakland Harbor, where Denny Kudelka had surfaced, from the salt marshes where Adam Valois had washed up.

Brenner rounded the South Bay, stomping Godzilla-esque across Silicon Valley, flattening the campuses of Google and Meta and Apple, headed for a door marked Private. Unlocking it with one of his many keys, he tugged on a chain light.

Six-by-eight room; bizarre contrast to all the space outside. Bare studs and a sloped concrete floor with a drain told of a former life as a janitor�s closet.

Corporal Jake Brenner had made this cell-like place his own. A pair of vertical monitors stood at attention atop the rickety government-issue desk. A tower computer hummed. He�d spliced into the wiring, run ethernet. Creature comforts included a government-issue office chair, a dust-furred box fan, a prehistoric telephone in acidified plastic, a microwave, a mini-fridge, and bulk cases of Diet Dr Pepper stacked five-high.

Brenner sat and waggled a mouse, bringing up a map of the Bay, spread across both monitors. Arrows indicated ocean current direction and speed. Every few seconds they refreshed.

�This controls the model?� I asked.

�What? No,� Brenner said. �That�s for civilians. This is real-time.�

He switched to a tab labeled Simulate, opening a dialogue box with a dizzying array of input fields. �What are your final coordinates?�

�Can we sit somewhere?� Regina asked.

Brenner waved at the soda.

Regina and I took down a few cases each, stacked them up, and balanced on them.

�Final coordinates,� Brenner said, tapping his feet and one hand.

�I can show you on the map,� I said.

He surrendered the mouse. I zoomed in, dropped a pin on the Coyote Hills mudflats.

�Precise location or approximate?�

�Approximate.�

�How approximate?�

�Give or take a hundred yards.�

He clicked Radius (m) and plugged in 91.44. �What date did the body make landfall?�

�July 3 or 4, 2026.�

�Time.�

�I don�t know.�

�Date of immersion.�

�Start with June 21 to June 23.�

�What year?�

�Same year.�

�Twenty twenty-six.�

�Yes.�

He turned to us, blinking. �This is not going to work.�

�Let�s give it a try,� Regina said.

Brenner checked a box marked Reverse and clicked Run.

A progress bar appeared, inched toward completion.

�How long is this going to take?� Regina asked.

Brenner pointed to the bar. �That long.�

After eight minutes, the map redrew, coastline a mishmash of color.

�See?� he said.

�How can we narrow it down?� Regina asked.

�More specific parameters,� Brenner said. �Date or time of landfall. Date, time, point of immersion.�

�If we knew any of that, we wouldn�t be here.�

No response.

I said, �How about if we compare this map with the one you sent Deputy Shupfer? Look for locations in common?�

�The software is configured to perform a single trace,� he said. �I can add comparative functionality but I�ll have to write it from scratch.�

Regina said, �Great. You want to get back in touch when it�s done?�

�I�ll do it now,� Brenner said.

He sprang up and hurried to the mini-fridge. The shelves were wall-to-wall El Monterey brand bean-and-cheese burritos. The door was all Diet Dr Pepper.

Brenner tossed a burrito in the microwave and pressed the Burrito button. Opening a soda can, he returned to his desk.

Glanced over, perplexed to find us still standing there. �I need twenty minutes.�

�We�ll take a walk,� I said.

Larry B�s Monster Patty was someone�s Happy Days fantasy: black-and-white-check linoleum, vinyl booths, a jukebox. Alan Mendes leaned on the Formica counter, well into a lettuce-wrapped cheeseburger.

�Clay? Al. Sorry,� he said, wiping grease from his fingers. �I do intermittent-fasting keto. If I don�t eat right away, I turn into a pumpkin.�

Mendes was late forties, five-eight, with short, thick limbs, a barrel chest, and a shaved head. A crucifix tattoo turtled out from his sleeve as he crushed my hand.

I ordered coffee that materialized in seconds.

�Nothing else?� the counterman asked.

�Fries are good,� Mendes said. �For you.� Grin. �I�m keto.�

I said, �Fries, please.�

The counterman said, �Coming up.�

Mendes and I eased into a game of Six Degrees of Cop. He remembered Lisa Shupfer.

�That lady�s no bullshit,� he said.

�Not one ounce.�

The counterman delivered my fries. I took some and passed the basket to Mendes.

�Prick,� he said, shaking the ketchup bottle.

He listened, chewing, as I sketched Adam Valois�s case. Every so often he broke in with a question, his tone genial if a bit cagey.

�You really think this computer map thing will work?� he asked.

�Don�t know. We�re looking for other vics.�

�I haven�t heard of any.�

�No reason you would, if they�re washing up in different locations, at different times. So far, we only have two.�

�And neither�s a homicide.�

�Not officially.�

Mendes took a fry, swirled it in ketchup. �Let�s say you do find more. Then what? It�s a serial killer?�

�I�m nowhere near saying that.�

�I like to pretend there�s no such thing as coincidences.� He stuffed the fry in his mouth. �But that�s just a lie cops tell themselves.�

�I feel the same way.�

�So?�

�The tox is very specific,� I said. �These aren�t drugs you pile on top of each other for fun. Ketamine, fine, but I�ve never heard of anyone partying with muscle relaxants.�

�Man, don�t underestimate stupidity. There are probably idiots getting high licking postage stamps.�

�Your gut�s saying no.�

�My gut says nothing except it�s too damn big. Look, Clay, I don�t want to rain on your parade.�

�You�re not. I asked. But if you saw anything with Denny that pointed to foul play, I want to hear it.�

�I�m happy to share,� he said. �Just get those fucking fries away from me.�

Gary Kinney at the park police wasn�t in. I reached his partner, Tiffany Reuss.

�How�s your daughter feeling?� I asked.

�Pardon?�

�Detective Kinney told me she had a bug.�

�Right. Better, thanks. What can I do for you?�

�I wanted to share what we�ve come up with, see if it kicks anything off for you.�

�You can try.�

She listened silently. When I raised Adam�s possible bisexuality, she said:

�You know, Gary and I discussed Adam seeing someone else. Not a man, no reason to think that. But an affair explains a lot. Even more so with a man. Leaving his phone behind, hush-hush travel.�

�Did you ask Olivia about it?�

�I went to see her by myself. We thought she�d be more open if it was just a woman asking. She wasn�t having it. Shut right down.�

�How�d you interpret that?�

�Hard to say. You assume it�s not a fun thing for her to think about. Paints the entire relationship in a whole new light.�

�Any dating apps on Adam�s phone?�

�I don�t remember hearing about it during the forensic. Same for his computer, but I can�t be sure. Why?�

�Denny Kudelka belonged to a whole bunch. I have a list I can send you. Maybe Adam was on some of the same ones.�

�How many sites we talking about?� Reuss said.

�So far, twenty-six.�

�Oh, wow,� she said. �Hm. Well. Lemme talk to Gary and get back to you.�

Subtext: You want me to write twenty-six affidavits?

Sub-subtext: LOL, cowboy.

On Saturday I waited till noon to call Regina.

A man answered: �Klein Investigations.�

�Hi Ed. It�s Clay.�

�Clay, excellent to hear from you.�

�Same. How�ve you been?�

�Oh, terrific. Exciting times at the lab.�

I let him talk about proteins for a bit.

�That�s really cool,� I said. �Hey, is Regina around?�

�Well, she�s still asleep. I�ll tell you, Clay,� he said, lowering his voice, �she came in pretty late, and I couldn�t help but notice she�s a little banged up.�

�We had an eventful night. She handled herself fine, though.�

�She�s so brave.� Protectiveness had given way to pride. �I just admire her so much.�

In the background she yelled: �Are you talking about me?�

�Only good things,� Ed said. �It�s Clay.�

�Did he tell you I saved his ass?� She took the phone. �Did you tell him?�

�I would describe it as a mutual saving,� I said.

Ed said, �Hungry, darling?�

�I�d love some coffee.�

�Coming right up.�

�Thank you, baby.�

She let Ed leave the room; grumbled: �Don�t say it.�

�Say what.�

�I don�t deserve him.�

�Your words, not mine. Did you give him an answer yet?�

�Kindly shut the fuck up.�

I laughed. �How�s your head?�

�Peachy. You?�

�Some bruises but nothing too bad.�

�Is Amy upset?�

�More resigned,� I said. �Don�t worry, I told her it was your fault. Anything from Olivia yet?�

�She texted. I�m talking to her on Monday after work.�

In the background Ed was asking if Regina wanted scrambled eggs.

�Don�t fucking say it,� she growled and hung up.

The hostess at Songpa House Korean BBQ reacted with alarm to Trevor�s appearance, starting to point to a wall sign that declared Restrooms Are for Paying Customers Only.

I said, �Two, please.�

She put on a brave face and led us to a rear booth. �Enjoy.�

�Bitch,� Trevor muttered as she walked away.

He snatched up the menu. �What�s good?�

�I like the pork belly. But you can�t go wrong.�

�You eat here a lot.�

�I used to.�

�Why�d you stop?�

�I moved.�

�Where you live now?�

�You first,� I said.

He laughed despite himself.

The server brought water.

Trevor threw down the menu. �Gimme the all-you-can-eat.�

�Only for the whole table,� the server said.

�That�s bullshit, yo.�

�Two all-you-can-eat, please,� I said. �Thanks.�

The server took the menus and left.

�I hate shit like that,� Trevor said.

�Rules?�

�For real, what difference does it make?�

�It�s their business. They get to decide how to run it.�

�Still bullshit.� He picked at a piece of dead skin on his lip. �You talked to Jasmine.�

�A little.�

�How�s she doing.�

�Working hard.�

�Not my fault the bitch won�t take my money.� He tugged the skin loose � blood welled up � and flicked it under the table. �You see my girls?�

�Briefly.�

�How they look?�

�Happy,� I lied.

Quickly, mercifully, the food began to arrive, piles of seafood and thin-sliced raw meat. Trevor tossed items barehanded onto the cooking grate, pulling them off at the first sign of color change and cramming them down with bleak determination.

Force-feeding himself.

He gagged on rib eye, groped for water. �This shit is chewy as fuck.�

Rotted teeth didn�t help. I said, �Maybe give it longer on the fire.�

He grew slightly more agreeable as he filled up, leading me to wonder how much of his surliness was due to temperament, how much to drugs, and how much to plain old hunger. At minimum he appeared intent on getting my money�s worth, demolishing one platter after another. The server began giving us a wide berth.

When he seemed relatively pacified, I asked about Adam�s arrest in high school.

�It was unloaded,� Trevor said. �I didn�t want him doing nothing crazy.�

�What did he want a gun for?�

�He was just angry.�

�At what?�

�Everything. His parents, school. Yo,� he called to the server, waving a plate at her. �I need me some more of these shrimps.�

She didn�t move.

�All you can eat,� he said. �Right?�

She glared, took the plate into the kitchen.

�Shit.� Trevor shook his head. �Don�t call it that if that ain�t what it is.�

�A couple people have mentioned that Adam was sexually attracted to men.�

I expected denial but Trevor nodded.

�You knew.�

�Hell yeah. That�s my boy. Ride or ride.�

�Was that what he was angry about? Was he frustrated?�

�Nah. He was like that since he was little.�

I hazarded the logical question: �Anything ever happen between the two of you?�

�Not really.�

�Not really or no?�

�It didn�t mean nothing.�

I waited.

He said, �We used to go swimming at his house. The pool had these jets, right? And you could, like, you could rub on them? That shit felt good... Anyway we�re in there, I�m all like, unh, unh, unh, I�m about to come, I got my eyes closed, and I feel Adam�s hand on my dick. I was like, �Whoa, whoa, what the fuck.� �

�What did he do?�

�Let go my dick.�

�How old were you?�

�Nine, ten. Something like that.�

�Did it affect your friendship?�

�Not really. We kinda just forgot about it.�

�Did it ever happen again?�

�Uh-uh.� He forked a piece of rib eye, dunked it in ssamjang, and sat back, chewing. �It�s crazy, you know? In school they always had me and him sitting next to each other, �cause of our last names. And I hated him. For real. Hated. I thought he was a lil bitch. Our moms forced us to play together so we�d stop fighting. Then I was like, �Okay, he�s still a lil bitch. But he�s my lil bitch.� �

�What about as you got older? Did he hook up with guys?�

�I don�t think so.�

�Would he have told you?�

�He told me when he fucked girls.�

�Okay, but maybe this was something he would�ve kept private.�

Trevor shrugged. �You asked me, I answered you.�

�Adam�s sister told us that he had a relationship with a man during college,� I said. �And that he was pretty upset when it ended.�

�I don�t know about that. We sorta stopped talking when he left Cali. He was over there doing his thing, I was here doing mine.�

�He never discussed it with you later.�

�Nah, man.�

The server brought the shrimp.

�Some more these ribs, too,� Trevor said.

She stiffened and left with the empty.

�How�d you and Adam get back in touch?� I asked.

�He DM�d me. He said he wanted to make a movie about us.� Shrimp dumped onto the grill. �I think he just wanted an excuse to hang out.�

�Why�d he need an excuse?�

� �Cause of Olivia.�

�What�s that mean?�

�You know how bitches be.�

�Not sure I do.�

�Yeah, you do.� He prodded the shrimp with tongs. �She�s all texting him, where you at, who you with, when you coming home.�

�Jealous.�

�For real for real.�

�Other people have described her and Adam as being in love.�

�I ain�t gonna argue with that.�

�Did Adam cheat on her?�

�Yo, that�s his business.�

�Is that a yes?�

He tossed the tongs down with a clatter. �Look, all I know, one time he comes over wearing this watch. Like a nice ass watch. I�m like, �That�s dope, where�d you get it?� He goes, �A friend gave it to me.� �Damn, I want to be this dude�s friend, too, hook me up.� He took it off and straight up gave it to me. He said he�ll just ask the guy for another. I�m like, �Yo, what the fuck, who is this guy, fucking Santa Claus?� Adam starts laughing. �Yeah, you gotta sit on his lap.� �

�He was getting paid for sex?�

�Whatever, I�m cool with it.�

�What�s this person�s name?�

�He didn�t say.�

�Did Adam ever mention him again?�

Trevor shook his head.

�When�d you have this conversation? Close to when Adam died?�

�Before.�

�Months, years?�

�Listen, bro, I told you what I know, all right?�

�Did you tell it to the cops?�

�They wasn�t asking about that, they just wanted me to confess to shit I never did. I don�t need anyone to make me feel like shit, all right? I already feel like shit.�

�Why?�

�Why you think? He�s dead.�

�You didn�t do it.�

�So? He�s dead, motherfucker.�

His face was red.

�You bitches are all the same. It�s like, what do I got to do? Fuck, bro. I didn�t even know he was dead till they came to talk to me.�

I nodded. �Tough way to find out.�

�No shit. And it fucks me up, all right? I think about it all the time. Literally every day. My brain just replays it, over and over. He�s out there dying and I�m locked up, I can�t do a thing.�

�What could you have done?�

He shook his head morosely. �Adam wasn�t built for real shit.�

The shrimp began to burn, sending up little pillars of black smoke. I was about to reach for the tongs when Trevor let out a half belch, half sob.

His eyes went wide.

He lurched from the booth and stumbled down the back hall, bumping the server, who yelped and dropped his platter of ribs.

Loud retches rang out.

I rushed to the men�s room, toed open the door. Trevor was on his knees. He�d aimed for the stall but fallen short, doubling over on the tiles and vomiting up his lunch.

Another place I could never return to.

Olivia Parisi�s voice said, �Sorry about the other day.�

�No problem,� Regina said. Gentle and warm, gal pal extraordinaire. �How�s Owen doing?�

�Oh my God, it was so insane. He eats the most random things. Like, I had to pin up my shower curtain �cause he basically chewed off the bottom.�

�Oof.�

�I give him plenty of food, so it�s not that. The vet said it�s a condition... I always keep the bathroom door shut, but I must�ve forgotten, �cause in the morning it was open, and he�d just torn the place apart. Tissues, toilet paper. I had a brand-new box of contacts on the sink. Somehow he got into them. He ate the lenses.�

�No.�

�Yeah. Literally ate them. I don�t know, maybe he liked the taste of the saline.�

�Is he okay?�

�He�s fine. They told me he�ll poop them out. But every time he does this, it�s five hundred dollars.�

�On the plus side, his stomach is twenty-twenty.�

They were both laughing.

�I�m glad he�s okay,� Regina said. �And thanks for meeting again.�

�Of course. Anything I can do to help. Did you speak to the people whose names I gave you?�

�I did. Thanks.�

�Were they able to tell you anything?�

�Not much. Several of them made a point of saying how in love you two were.�

�That�s nice to hear, I guess.�

�One thing I asked was why Adam would be in Oakland. Nobody seemed to know. When we talked, you couldn�t think of a reason, either, other than to visit Trevor.�

�I was thinking out loud,� Olivia said. �I don�t actually know if that�s what he was doing.�

�Right. I also spoke to Kirsten. She said that when Adam was at Sarah Lawrence he had a relationship with a man, which was what led to him being hospitalized.�

Silence.

�Were you aware of that?� Regina asked.

�Was I aware...? I mean, yes. Yeah. Yes, I was aware. We were together for almost five years. Of course I was aware.�

�Did Adam have other relationships with men?�

�You�re asking me if he was gay. Is that it?�

�More like bi. Was it a onetime deal or something else?�

�He was not gay and he was not bi.�

�Okay.�

�He was my boyfriend,� Olivia said. �We had sex. Good sex. You can think whatever you want, you don�t get to decide.�

�You�re right.�

�Fine, but you�re acting like one thing, from a long time ago, gets to define who he is. People experiment. I did all kinds of stupid stuff. It doesn�t mean that�s who I am for the rest of my life.�

�I�m not trying to box Adam in,� Regina said. �I�m sorry if it feels like that.�

�It does. That�s pretty much exactly what it feels like.�

�Then I apologize.�

�I know I�m not like a, a supermodel, or whatever, but can you give me a little credit, please? I wouldn�t be with someone who didn�t want me in that way. I couldn�t.�

�Sure.�

�He didn�t have to, like, force himself to... He loved me.�

�I don�t doubt that at all, Olivia.�

�No, but. Listen. Okay? Me. He loved me.�

�I believe you,� Regina said.

�You should.�

Silence.

�How old are you?� Olivia asked.

�Forty.�

�Are you married?�

�I have a boyfriend.�

�How old is he?�

�A little older.�

�Lemme guess, he�s a perfect gentleman.�

Regina laughed softly.

�I�m serious,� Olivia said. �Guys my age, you have no idea. I don�t know if it�s too much porn, or...� A beat. �One guy, it was like our second date, we�re making out on his couch. We hadn�t really done anything, just kissing. He starts choking me.�

�Oh God.�

�Yeah.�

�What did you do?�

�Grabbed his hands, like, �What are you doing?� He was all, �Oh, you don�t like that?� Like I�m the weird one. Like it�s a normal thing you do. And, I don�t know. Maybe it is.�

�I�m so sorry, Olivia. That sounds so frightening.�

�Yeah, it was. And I mean, I�m not trying to make this about me. But it�s not like it�s always been easy, okay? I�ve had things happen in my life... Do you understand what I�m saying?�

�I think I do.�

Silence.

�Did you report it?� Regina asked.

�Report what? Nobody�s going to believe me. He�s just gonna say I asked him to. Look, I don�t care about that. My point is, I�ve met tons of guys, and they all have a thing. Okay? All of them. Adam... He treats me well. He�s honest. I never questioned his feelings for me. Do you get how rare that is? If he has needs, and I can�t give that to him, and it doesn�t affect me, why should that upset me? I�m happy for him.�

�Sure.�

�Everybody has hobbies,� Olivia said. �If he was into, I don�t know. Cars. Went crazy over cars. I�m not going to get upset over that. That would be stupid. I�m not going to feel jealous of a car.�

�I hear you,� Regina said. �And I think you�re brave for sharing it with me.�

�Thank you.�

A beat.

�This scenario you�re describing,� Regina said, �with Adam seeing other people��

�He wasn�t seeing them,� Olivia said. �He just went and... got it out of his system. Once in a while, and then we were back to normal. Like a fling.�

�Okay. A fling. I still think we need to consider how it changes the situation.�

�Does it?�

�You don�t think it does.�

�Not really, no,� Olivia said. �What does it change?�

�Well, for example, I�d wonder if Adam was with someone when he died.�

�He wasn�t.�

�How do you know that?�

�We had rules. He had to tell me when and where he was going. He had to wear a condom, and he had to get tested every two weeks.�

�You communicated.�

�Yes.�

�Is it possible he sometimes left things out?�

�Why would he lie? He had my permission. He had nothing to hide.�

�That�s fair,� Regina said.

Ah, the pain of stopping your eyes from rolling clear back.

�It doesn�t have to be that he was lying intentionally,� Regina said. �Maybe he forgot.�

�He wouldn�t. Not about that. See, this, the way you�re talking to me � this is why I didn�t say anything to anyone about it.�

�Do you mean the police or Adam�s parents?�

�Either. They�re just going to look at me like I�m crazy.�

�I don�t think that.�

�Yeah, well, you can say that, but this is always how it is. People want everything to be either this or that.�

�It must be frustrating, having to constantly explain.�

�It�s exhausting. I don�t need that in my life.�

�Did you discuss it with friends?�

�We didn�t discuss it with anyone. For this reason.�

�I hope you can see,� Regina said, �I�m not coming from a place of judgment, just curiosity about how it worked. Like, how frequently did Adam have these flings?�

Olivia blew out air. �Every few months, I guess.�

�Did he go out and meet people, did he connect with them online?�

�I mean. Both, probably? I don�t know. I wasn�t sitting there, helping him swipe.�

�Did you ever meet any of these individuals?�

�Of course not,� Olivia said. �That�s weird. Why would I want to meet them?�

�I can imagine some people might feel better, knowing who their partner was with.�

�Not me.�

�Don�t ask, don�t tell.�

�Yeah.�

�Did he only meet with men, or was it women, too?�

�I wouldn�t... Men.�

�That was a rule.�

�We didn�t need a rule. Look,� Olivia said, �you�re still not getting it.�

�I�m trying to.�

�Yeah, well, if you did, you wouldn�t be asking these kinds of questions.�

�Bear with me, please, a little bit longer.�

Olivia sighed impatiently. �Yeah, okay.�

�We met with Detective Kinney,� Regina said. �He showed us CCTV footage from Adam�s parking garage, taken Saturday evening. In it, Adam�s hauling what looks like an equipment case.�

�He had a bunch of those for his cameras and stuff. I told the cops, he didn�t have it with him when he showed up at my place.�

�Any idea what happened to it?�

�No.�

�Can you think of a reason why he�d have a camera on him?�

�I mean, he was a cameraman, it was part of his job.�

�He wasn�t going to a job the next day, though.�

�I guess.�

�You said that you and Adam had sex that night.�

�...yeah.�

�Did you make a movie?�

A beat.

�Excuse me?� Olivia said.

�Did you film yourselves having sex?�

�I... No. You really just asked me that.�

�I�m trying to understand as best I can.�

�We didn�t make a movie. And this� � louder, steely � �is making me pretty uncomfortable.�

�I�m sorry. But is it possible that he made a movie with someone else?�

�Oh my God. Seriously?�

�Olivia, I�m��

�You did not just seriously ask me that.�

�I�m having trouble wrapping my head around the camera case � why Adam brought it with him, where it went.�

�If I thought he was with someone, don�t you think I would�ve told that to the police?�

�You didn�t tell them about the arrangement to begin with.�

�Yeah,� Olivia said, �because it didn�t matter. He wasn�t meeting anyone. He would have told me, okay? Now can we please be done? Please?�

�One final thing and then we�ll wrap it up,� Regina said.

�Oh my God... Whatever.�

�I wanted to return to something you said last time. I asked what you thought when Adam wasn�t in his apartment. You said you suspected he was with another woman.�

�...okay?�

�Do you remember saying that?�

�Not really.�

�I can play you the recording.�

�No, I... If you say so.�

�What made you think that?�

�I mean. I don�t remember saying it, so I don�t know.�

�You see where I�m coming from,� Regina said. �Your arrangement allowed him to have sexual contact with men, not women.�

�When you put it that way it sounds like a business agreement.�

�Based on what you�re telling me, in your position, I would sooner imagine he was with a man. But you said you were worried about a woman.�

�Yeah, but... That�s not what I meant.�

�Okay. What did you mean?�

�I just... I don�t know. I don�t know, okay? I wasn�t thinking straight. Maybe I felt insecure. I don�t know any women who aren�t insecure about that.�

�Sure. You also told us that Adam hadn�t given you a reason to be suspicious.�

�He didn�t.�

�Does it seem possible?�

�Does what seem possible?�

�He was meeting with a woman, but he didn�t inform you,� Regina said. �That could be one reason he had a camera with him.�

�No. No. I need to stop, please. My head is killing me.�

�I have some Motrin in my purse, if you�d like.�

�No, it�s � I�ll be okay. Let�s just drop this.�

�Sure,� Regina said. �Would you be open to talking again?�

Silence.

The audio continued to run as Regina picked up the recorder. Good habit, in case the subject took a parting shot.

Two sets of footsteps, the squeak of a hinge.

�Feel better,� Regina said.

A door closed.

Still the file ran. I heard feet walking up a driveway; heard the double beep of a car unlocked, the grunt as Regina climbed behind the wheel, a clunk as she set the recorder in the cupholder.

�Fuck a duck,� she said.

On Wednesday I drove to Los Altos. This time it was Rick Valois who saw me into the living room. Liz hovered by the fireplace, darning her fingers. Nobody offered me a drink.

We sat.

�I�ll be sending you my written summary later today,� I said. �I wanted to talk in person first, so we could go through it together and you can ask questions.�

Liz said, �Thank you.�

�You�re welcome.� I opened my laptop. �I�ll start with the coroner�s report. I spoke to the lead investigator and reviewed the file. In my view, they�re correct: At present, the physical evidence alone isn�t strong enough to support a homicide ruling.�

Rick�s expression curdled instantly. �That�s not what the independent lab said.�

�I understand that, Professor. But they�re not bound by the same legal categories, and other than a single, ambiguous statement in the conclusion, the autopsy findings themselves are identical. To overturn an official ruling we�d need ironclad proof. We don�t have that. Not even close.�

�So what? You�re done?�

�Let him speak, please,� Liz said.

�If that�s what he thinks, fine,� Rick said. �Let�s cut the crap and move on.�

�May I?� I said.

He waved assent.

�Thank you,� I said. �None of this is to say Adam�s death wasn�t a homicide. There are questions worth asking. But any contrary evidence we have, at least right now, is flimsy at best.�

�Isn�t that why we hired you?� Rick said. �To find hard evidence?�

�You hired me to review the case, and that�s what I�ve done. Regina and I spoke to the police. We interviewed everyone you referred us to, as well as the folks Olivia put us in touch with. I also tracked down Trevor Vogel.�

He sat forward. �And?�

�We know he wasn�t directly involved. He insists he wasn�t involved, period.�

�You took him at his word.�

�For the most part, I did, yes. Besides the fact that he was in Nevada when Adam died, he�s barely functional. Not to mention pretty broken up about it.�

�We�re talking about a sociopath, for God�s sake. Capable of anything.�

�Be that as it may, I can�t see him planning a murder from one state over.�

�I just... I�m gobsmacked.�

�Rick,� Liz murmured.

�You had him,� Rick said, �and you let him go.�

�I can�t arrest him,� I said.

�Then call the real police and get them to do it.�

�That wasn�t the purpose of the conversation, Professor. The detectives have been very clear that they don�t consider Trevor a suspect. Had I called them, they�d have ignored me and likely never spoken to me again.�

Rick shook his head. �Unbelievable.�

�I�ll continue to keep an open mind,� I said. �I�d ask you to do the same. He�s one of several lines of inquiry.�

�What are the others?� Liz said.

�Before I answer that, I want to advise you that we�re going to venture into some sensitive territory around your son�s personal life.�

They glanced at each other.

�Meaning what?� Rick said.

�Are you aware that Adam had sexual relationships with men?�

Liz�s lips parted.

�The hell are you talking about?� Rick said. �Who told you that?�

�Multiple sources.�

�Who?�

I said, �Kirsten. Olivia and Trevor both confirmed it.�

�Olivia did?�

�What did Kirsten say?� Liz asked.

�Adam was dating a man in college,� I said. �The breakup was what led to him leaving campus and getting hospitalized.�

�Hang on a second, please, hang on,� Rick said. �Why would Olivia date him if he was gay?�

�She didn�t define him that way, and I�m not sure he saw himself that way.�

�What, then?�

�All indications are that they were committed to each other. Part of the deal was that he was allowed to meet men for occasional sex.�

�That�s absurd,� Rick said. �Why in the world would she agree to such a thing?�

�According to her it was a way of giving Adam what he needed.�

�This is...� Rick spluttered a laugh. �It�s just absurd. This is how you�ve been spending your time? Our money? Raking up muck?�

�Rick, please,� Liz said.

�Please what? Are you listening to what he�s saying?�

I said, �I realize this might be upsetting��

He jabbed a finger at me. �Don�t you dare put words in my mouth. I said no such thing. Making me out like some kind of, of, of homophobe.�

�Professor��

�And don�t �Professor� me. This is my house, you will not come in here and piss on my leg and tell me it�s raining.�

�Richard,� Liz said. �Enough.�

Silence.

I said, �I didn�t mean that it�s upsetting because of Adam�s sexual orientation. Just that it can be hard to learn your child kept secrets from you.�

Rick stared past me, a vein ticking in his neck.

�We appreciate your thoughtfulness,� Liz said.

�If you�d rather stop, I can send you the summary to read at your convenience.�

�We�re listening,� she said. She turned to her husband. �Richard?�

He left the room.

I looked at Liz. �Should we��

Rick yelled down the hall: �Wait, please.�

He returned with a legal pad and a pen, threw himself onto the sofa. �Proceed.�

From that point on, he didn�t interrupt. But I could tell what interested him � or infuriated him � by the intensity of his scribbling.

Liz Valois remained still, her posture like oak.

When I finished she gave a strained smile. �This is a lot to take in.�

I nodded.

�I know Adam struggled,� she said. �That much was evident when he got arrested. I thought, Well, he�s a teenage boy, they�re like that. We put him in therapy, he started medication. He seemed to be doing better.�

Rick rediscovered his voice: �He was doing better.�

�Then we got the call from the college.�

�And we went right away.�

�I went,� Liz said.

Silence.

�What did they tell you?� I asked.

�Nothing, really,� she said. �Everyone I spoke with was very guarded. The hospital, too. They all said the same thing: Adam�s an adult, it�s a privacy issue.�

�More like CYA,� Rick muttered.

�And Kirsten didn�t disclose what he�d told her,� I said.

Liz shook her head.

�If she had,� Rick said, �maybe we wouldn�t be sitting here right now.�

�I think that�s being a bit harsh on her,� I said.

�Is it? While her brother�s running around on the sly, meeting God knows who? I don�t know why he thought he had to... pretend. We don�t give a damn about who he slept with. We have all kinds of friends. My cousin�s gay.�

�It�s our fault,� Liz said.

�Don�t say that,� Rick said. �Why would you say that?�

�Because it is.�

�I don�t want to hear that kind of talk.� He grabbed her hand. �You�re a wonderful mother.�

�We allowed him to drop out and move in with us. He had to go back into therapy and restart his antidepressant, those were the conditions. But we shouldn�t have let him quit. We should have made him stay in school and grow up.�

�We were doing the best we could.�

�That�s not true, Richard, and it doesn�t help me to pretend, either.�

�I�m not pretending.�

She withdrew her hand, speaking only to me. �These last few years, I thought we�d reached a � a new phase, and everything would be fine.�

Her voice was steady, her face composed as tears trickled down her cheeks.

I went to my pocket for a tissue. All gone; I�d given the last one to Trevor Vogel.

�Now look what you�ve done,� Rick said and jumped up.

He stomped to the powder room for a Kleenex box. Liz placed it in her lap but did not use it.

He took up his pad. �I have some questions.�

�Please,� I said.

�First off, I want to know what Olivia has to say for herself. She�s claiming ignorance, well, I�m sorry, no, that�s � no. Not going to happen. How could she not know who he was with?�

�She told Regina she didn�t like to hear specifics.�

�Awfully convenient for her, don�t you think?�

�I think it�s worth looking into.�

�I�d call it a hell of a lot more than that. It�s goddamn suspicious.�

He was building up a head of steam, shifting the object of his vengeance in real time.

�She�s the last person to see him alive,� Rick said. �How do we know she didn�t do something to him?�

�As I said, we�re exploring several possibilities.�

�In science, we prioritize parsimony. That means the simplest explanation. In this context, she�s the parsimonious suspect. It�s the partner, everybody knows that.�

I decided not to remind him that, an hour ago, he�d been gunning for Trevor Vogel. �It would help to hear your impressions of their relationship.�

�They seemed happy,� Liz said, �as far as I could tell.�

�Dr. Valois?�

�I don�t know how I�m supposed to answer that given everything you�ve told us,� he said.

�Whatever you remember.�

�That is what I remember. Nothing. She was a nonentity.�

�We could have made more of an effort,� Liz said. �To... welcome her.�

I said, �Did Adam ever mention having conflict with her?�

�Not to me.�

�Did you ever see her act violently toward him?�

�She�d have to be some kind of idiot to hit him in front of us,� Rick said.

He raised an educational index finger. �That�s not how it works, with female abusers. Nobody talks about it because no man is going to admit it.�

�Once Adam disappeared,� I said, �did you notice any changes in her behavior?�

Liz shook her head. �She was nothing but helpful.�

�That could be her way of trying to divert attention from herself,� Rick said.

�How long did you keep in touch with her?� I asked.

�We were texting for a bit,� Liz said. �And she called occasionally, to check in.�

�Did she ever say anything that struck you as unusual?�

�Such as what?�

�Fishing for information about the investigation, for example.�

Rick said, �So you do suspect her.�

I said, �I�m keeping an open mind.�

�Not that I can recall,� Liz said.

�Okay. Along those lines, I wanted to ask about the person who gave Adam a watch.�

�Allegedly,� Rick said.

�To me, that suggests someone with money.�

Silence.

Time to push. �Someone from your club, possibly?�

�You�re asking if one of our friends was whoring our son?� Rick said.

�I�m thinking about who Adam had relationships with. Mrs. Valois?�

Liz shook her head.

�You helped Adam drum up business,� I said.

�I did when he was starting out. Not as much these days.�

�Would that have brought him into contact with wealthy individuals?�

�I suppose.�

�It could be someone that lives up in the East Bay, closer to where his car was found. Maybe Piedmont? Does that ring any bells?�

�Not for me,� she said.

�Dr. Valois?�

�I told you, no,� he said. �The very idea revolts me. My son didn�t need to, to... He had everything he could�ve wanted and more. Why he would...�

He trailed off, put his head in his hands. In profile he bore an eerie similarity to Trevor, pounding himself in the skull.

Liz said, �Shouldn�t we bring this to the police?�

�We can,� I said. �I doubt it�ll move them. As I said, we have to overcome the presumption that this was an accident. And, for the record, that�s still the most likely scenario. If someone did harm Adam��

Big if, Alan Mendes said in my ear.

��then it�s either connected to these other cases or it isn�t. If it is, we�re spread across three jurisdictions and several years.�

Rick raised his head. �I don�t understand why you�re bothering with all of this other nonsense when it�s obvious that you should be focusing on her.�

�They�re not mutually exclusive.�

�Really? What are the odds?�

�I can�t and won�t put a number on it,� I said. �What I can tell you is that persuading the cops to get involved will require additional evidence. That takes time and money.�

�Ah.� He snorted. �Now it comes out. You want us to give you a blank check.�

�Not in the least. I work at your discretion.�

He smiled sardonically. �My wife and I will discuss it and get back to you.�

�No,� Liz said. �We won�t.�

She met my eye. �Do what you need to do.�

Google News scraped several articles from SFGate, the first dating to six months before Adam�s death.

One week later:

The next development was major and took longer.

In April, SFPD appealed to the public for help � without avail, it seemed. An anniversary article noted the lack of progress.

Linus Hao�s LinkedIn had him majoring in computer science at Pomona. He�d worked for several tech powerhouses before landing at an information security start-up. While he did have an Instagram page, he posted less frequently, and in less intimate detail, than his peers. Mostly he recycled memes.

What Hao shared with Adam Valois was a South Bay address and a job that kept him at home. They lived in different cities, though, and Adam was an artist, not a coder. He was also six years older than Hao � an eternity in today�s demographics.

Denny Kudelka, on the other hand, fit Hao�s age cohort. Socially and geographically, they occupied separate worlds.

As for John Doe, I had nothing to compare.

Hao was a common enough surname that I had difficulty pinpointing his parents. My best guess for his sister, Agnes, was a gastroenterology resident at Children�s Hospital Colorado in Aurora. I left a message at her department.

Next I searched for Camille Radovic, the nanny who�d called 911.

Jackpot.

Her social media persona was SFNanny4Twins. She�d cultivated around three thousand followers with clickbaity how-tos like �The Best Swaddle: No More Breakouts,� �End Diaper Rash for Good,� and �Mo Veggies, Mo Problems.�

Mixed in were photos and videos documenting her daily activities � playground outings, museums, music class, mealtime. She hid the children�s faces behind outsized emojis, making them look like parade float characters.

I messaged her, then called the SF Medical Examiner and asked for Alexi Malgin.

He wasn�t available to talk to me. I requested a copy of the Linus Hao file.

Five days later, it arrived. By then I�d tried Malgin twice more. I�d tried SFPD inspector Pettit three times. I�d tried Alan Mendes, Aaron Grouse, Gary Kinney, Tiffany Reuss.

Nobody was available to talk to me.

Regina said, �Get in line.�

She and Olivia had been texting, unable to find a mutually agreeable time for a follow-up interview. No matter what Regina proposed, it somehow conflicted with Olivia�s busy schedule.

�Stalling,� I said.

�That�s my read.�

�We could ambush her.�

�Let�s give it a few more days,� Regina said. �I�m still on my deep dive.�

�How�s that going?�

�The dentist she works for describes her as polite and punctual. None of their friends seem to have a clue about Adam�s extracurricular activities. I also reached out to her mom. No answer.�

�Must run in the family.�

Another park, another playground. This being Pac Heights, the equipment was newer, the strollers fancier. In addition to women in leggings and sunglasses I saw a few men � tech bros, retired or soon-to-be. Everyone sipping Blue Bottle and thumbing screens.

Camille Radovic had commandeered the bucket swings and was pushing two children with one hand while making kissy faces at the selfie camera. She was thirty or so, curvy, pleasant-faced, and dark-haired. Her current charges were a boy and a girl, about a year old. White-blond silk poked out from their sun hats.

I introduced myself as Brian from Channel Four News.

�Hiiiii,� Camille said. �Oh my gosh, thank you so much.�

�Glad it worked out.� I waved to the children. �You two are adorable.�

�Thaaank you. Say thank you, Xander. Thank you, Gigi.�

Her readiness to share the kids� names with a stranger disturbed me; her smile was bright and impatient. �Where�s your cameraman?�

�On his way. Why don�t we run through what you plan to say?�

�Like a warm-up.�

�You got it.�

�Cool,� she said, applauding herself. �Should I stop pushing them, or keep going?�

�Whatever�s easiest for you.�

�I think it looks better if I�m doing my nanny thing,� she said. �Can you make sure not to include their faces? Their mom�s pretty strict about that.�

�I�ll tell Chuck once he gets here.�

�Cool.� She tilted to favor her good side. �How�s my light?�

�Perfect. Go for it.�

�Well. I was watching the twins. My other twins, haha. Then.� Her brow pinched with consternation. �I saw this thing. Floating. I was like, �Whoooa, what is that?� �

She broke character to smile at me.

�Excellent. Do me a favor,� I said. �I went out there with my scouting camera. Take a look and show me where the body was when you first noticed it.�

Camille nodded. I scrolled through the photos I�d taken that morning.

�Kind of there,� she said, waggling her finger at the pier remnants.

�The third post.�

�Yeah. Or the one next to it. Kind of between.�

�And what about where it touched the rocks?�

�Um. There?�

�Are you sure?�

�I think? Are you going to ask me that on camera?�

�It�s the news,� I said �We want to be as accurate as possible.�

�Oh yeah.�

�How about the time? When�d you first see it?�

�Um. With Francie and Marnie, we usually went to the park around nine or ten. Later if they woke up late. Sorry, I feel like maybe this isn�t what you need.�

�No no no, you�re doing great,� I said. �See if you can remember about how long you waited before placing the call to 911.�

�I...� A lightbulb went off. �You know what.�

She stepped away from the swings and began whipping through her phone. The twins gurgled unhappily.

�Push them for a sec?� Camille said.

I pushed the twins. They wrenched around to stare at me. They looked petrified. I didn�t blame them. I wondered what it would be like to have twins. I wondered what it would be like to be a manny; how many followers I could amass. I could call myself EastBayBodies2Babies.

�Okay,� Camille said, proudly. �Here�s my footage.�

She handed me her phone, cued to a video. The title stamp read India Basin Shoreline Park, January 8, 2026, 9:27 a.m. A pair of identical twin girls stood poised at the top of the double slides. They were two years old, chubby and grave, one dressed in blue, the other in red.

Ready? Camille�s voice said. One, two, three, goooo!

The girl in red sat gingerly and inched down, slowing herself with her shoes.

Her sister leapt headfirst, came flying off the end, face-planted, and burst into tears.

Different styles.

Whoopsy-daisy! Camille yelled.

Still filming, she embraced the injured twin. Teachable moment.

Marnie, poor baby, you got an owie. That�s what happens when we go too fast... Let me see, show Cami.

Marnie whimpered. Her elbow was scratched.

You�re okay. You�re fine. Up. Up. Let�s go again. Up. We�re gonna go again. Ready? Good job! What a brave girl! Okay, let�s go. Francie... Oh shit.

The camera swung up, searching for Francie.

She was running away on her fat little red legs.

Francie! Stop! Shit...

The camera shook wildly as Camille grabbed Marnie and gave chase.

Francie! I said stop!

Francie didn�t stop.

Fuh... Francie!

Camille was huffing and puffing, weighed down by thirty-five pounds of Marnie. Props to Francie, too: She was fast, almost reaching the rocks before Camille seized her by the arm.

God... dammit, Francie. You cah... can�t do that.

Francie began to bawl.

I glanced at the real Camille. Still smiling proudly. Her finest work.

Onscreen, both twins were bawling, the same plaintive miserable voice doubled and out of sync.

Girls, come on. Chill out.

They didn�t chill out.

Camille kept filming. Teachable moment.

She set Marnie on the ground, sat Francie next to her. Tears streaked their moonfaces.

We�re all going to take a breath. Ready? One, two, threeee, I�m taking care of meee... Francie. You�re not taking a breath, please. One, two, three... Oh my God. Fine. I�m not going to argue with you.

Camille sighed. Then:

Whuh.

The view shifted to the water.

Oh my God! Girls! Look! It�s a fishy! Turn around. Look. Marnie. Turn around.

Camille zoomed in, following the object as it drifted steadily closer, passing between two pier remnants like a slo-mo field goal splitting the uprights.

Tracing a smooth, beautiful path.

The twins had stopped crying.

Do you see the fishy? Say hi, fishy! Hi! Should we wave to the fishy? Let�s wave.

After about forty seconds, the object reached the embankment. It bobbed momentarily till a largish wave rolled in and shoved it sideways toward the rocks.

An arm slopped out.

Oh my God.

Linus Hao�s head surfaced and submerged.

Oh. Oh no... Mister! Hello! Mister! Can you hear me!

Picking up on the agitation in Camille�s voice, the girls began again to bawl.

Shhh. Quiet. Stop. Stop... Oh, no. Oh, shit... Mister, can you hear me? Mister!

Another wave lifted the torso fully out of the water. Only then did Camille remember that the item in her hand was not just a camera but a phone. The video ended.

�I called 911,� she said.

�Camille,� I said. �This is incredible.�

She beamed. �Really?�

�Really. I�d love a copy for the segment. Text it to me?�

She started to comply. Thought of something. �Do I get anything for it?�

�Oh jeez.� I mugged ambivalence. �We don�t pay for media.�

�Oh.�

�Sorry. It�s a journalistic ethics thing. But if we end up using it, you�ll get onscreen credit.�

�Can you put up my socials?�

�I think I can probably swing that. I have to run it by my boss.�

�Okay, one sec.�

Having come to a standstill, the blond twins whined and kicked their legs furiously.

�Shhh,� Camille said, giving them each a shove. �How long till your cameraman gets here? I have to get them home for nap.�

I waited for the video to come through on my phone, then pretended to read a text. �Dangit. He got called to another story. We�ll have to schedule a reshoot.�

Camille�s face fell. �Oh.�

�I know,� I said. �The news never sleeps. Thank you, though. This is awesome.�

�When�s it going to be on?�

�I�ll let you know if it airs. Thanks again.�

As I walked off, I could hear the twins devolving into full-throated tantrums.

�One-two-three,� Camille sang. �I�m taking care of me.�

I tried Linus Hao�s sister Agnes; maybe she could fill in what Pettit wouldn�t. As I was leaving her a second message, call waiting beeped. I figured it was Brenner with another technical objection, but the screen showed a 925 number.

�Hello?�

A male voice said, �Yeah, uh. Can I talk to someone?�

�What�s this regarding?�

�It just says call if you have information.�

�Is this about the missing persons flyer?�

�Yeah.�

�Okay. Thanks for calling. I�m Clay.� I waited. �What�s your name?�

�Uh. Do I... Do I have to tell you that?�

�Not if you don�t want to.� I opened a database and ran a reverse search on his number. �Maybe you could start with where you saw the flyer.�

�Uh. Savage.�

�That�s a club?�

�Yeah. It was on the wall.�

�You recognized one of the individuals.�

�Yeah.�

�Which one?�

�Adam Valois,� he said, pronouncing it as Valoyz.

My heart kicked. �How do you know him?�

�I don�t know him. I just � talked to him for, I don�t know. Ten minutes?�

The search result popped up. Rafael Arguelles. Twenty-two years old. Oakland resident.

�When was this?� I asked.

�Last summer.�

�Do you know the date?�

�Like around my birthday. My cousin was visiting.�

I didn�t need to ask his birthday. I had it on my screen. June 17.

Three days before Adam�s disappearance.

Rafael said, �He didn�t do anything.�

�Who didn�t? Your cousin?�

�Yeah. Like, really. Nothing.�

�I understand.�

�No, but, I�m saying if he finds out I...� A beat. �I don�t want him to find out.�

�He doesn�t have to. Tell me whatever you�re comfortable with and we�ll take it from there.�

�Um... So, me and him went out, we�re going around. Someone starts calling his name. It�s this guy Dame. He and my cousin used to be tight. They played together at Tech. But Vi � my cousin, he moved to Sac, so I guess they hadn�t seen each other in a while. My cousin�s like, �Yo, come party with us, it�s Ra� � shit,� he mumbled, annoyed at himself, � �it�s his birthday, we�re doing shots.� And Dame goes, �Sorry, bro.� �Cause he was with this other dude.�

�Adam.�

�Yeah.�

�You�re sure it was him.�

�Pretty sure.�

�Can you describe him?�

�I mean, he looked like the guy in the picture.�

�Height, weight?�

�Not small, but nothing like Dame.�

�How big is Dame?�

�Huge. Jacked, too. He�s Black, this guy was white.�

�Hair color,� I said. �Eye color, clothing, anything like that?�

�I don�t know, man, I just remember his face.�

�Where�s this conversation taking place?�

�Downtown.�

�Sorry, which downtown?�

�Oakland.�

�In a bar, a club?�

�Outside. On the street. We were walking around, trying to decide where to go.�

�Do you remember what block it was? Can you picture anything nearby, a store or a street sign?�

�...I...�

�You know what, it�s fine,� I said. �If it comes to you later, great. Let�s keep going.�

�Um... Dame and my cousin, they start talking. I turn to this other dude like, �Where you from, how you know Dame?� Regular shit you ask a person. �Cause it was awkward, right? Not saying anything. He�s just like, �This, that, the other.� I could tell he didn�t want to talk to me.�

�Did he seem intoxicated? Was his slurring his speech?�

�Maybe? To be honest, me, I was a little excited myself.�

�Got you. What else do you remember?�

�Well, we�re standing there, not really saying anything, and then the guy goes to me, �It�s your birthday?� �Yeah.� �How old are you?� �Twenty-one.� He...� A faint chuff. �He pulls out his wallet and gives me twenty bucks, plus a one-dollar bill.�

�What did you think of that?�

�I mean, you want to give me money, I ain�t mad about that.�

�Did you get his name?�

�Nah. We just waited till Dame and my cousin finished talking. Then Dame goes, �Yo, hit me up,� the two of them took off.�

�Any idea where they went?�

�Uh-uh. We just went and did our thing.�

�I�m wondering if we can get any closer on the date,� I said. �Maybe you and your cousin messaged that night. When you were getting ready to go out, for example.�

�I don�t...�

�Can you look?�

�Yeah, just � let me...�

A long silence.

�June 20,� Rafael said.

My heart kicked again, harder. �That�s a Saturday night.�

�Yeah, I guess.�

�Do you remember what time you saw them?�

�Ffff... Pretty late. Me and my cousin didn�t get back till like four in the morning.�

I said, �What else can you tell me about Dame?�

�What do you mean.�

�What kind of person is he?�

�He�s just a regular guy.�

�Do you know if he was into guys or girls?�

�Dame?� He laughed. �He was a football player.�

�Does that mean girls?�

�Well. Yeah. Those guys get tons of it.�

�Just to clarify, when you said they played at Tech, that�s Oakland Tech.�

�Yeah.�

�Do you remember if Dame ever got into trouble?�

�Trouble?�

�Was he arrested?� I asked. �Did he use drugs?�

�I don�t... Look, he�s not really my friend, he�s V � he�s my cousin�s friend.�

�Do you think your cousin might be willing to talk to me?�

�...I don�t know about that.�

�But maybe?�

�I don�t think so.�

�Do you have a phone number for Dame, or an address?�

�Not... like I said, I don�t really know him.�

�What�s his last name?�

No answer.

I said, �What about the other people on the flyer? Do you recognize them?�

�No, just the guy.�

�And you only saw Adam that one night.�

Silence.

�What, uh,� Rafael said. �What happened to him?�

�He died.�

�Yeah, but... I mean, how.�

�He drowned.�

�Uh-huh.�

�So did the others,� I said. �At least one of them was beaten.�

�...shit.�

�Yeah. It was ugly.�

Silence.

�You�re sure you never saw Adam again,� I said.

�I swear, man.�

�Okay.�

Silence.

�We went over to see Dame,� he said. �Me and my cousin.�

�When?�

�The next day.�

�Sunday.�

�Yeah.�

�Okay. What happened?�

�We woke up late. We got something to eat, and then my cousin�s like, �Yo, let�s go see Dame.� We�re knocking, he comes out all mad �cause he was still asleep. I see him, and...�

Silence.

He said, �It looked like he got into a fight.�

�What made you think that?�

�He had a big cut on his cheek, and there was scratches all over his arms and his face.�

�Did he say how he got the injuries?�

�No.�

�Did he talk about the night before or mention Adam?�

�No. We just chilled for a little and then we went home.�

�Okay. Do you remember the address he was at?�

�Nah, I... My cousin was driving.�

�Everything you�re saying is really important,� I said. �Can you please tell me Dame�s last name?�

Silence.

�I get that you don�t want people to find out,� I said. �Here�s how I think about it. If he didn�t do anything, it ends here. If he did, we don�t want it to happen again.�

Silence. Arguelles had provided enough detail � committed enough slips of the tongue � that I could probably piece together the answer.

�Roby,� he said. �Dame Roby.�

I started to thank him but he was gone.

Damian Roby lived in a run-down multiplex on a tight, run-down block in the Arroyo Viejo neighborhood, squarely beneath the Oakland airport flight corridor. Mattresses, disarticulated furniture, and other assorted junk clogged the sidewalk. Pitbulls paced behind low iron fences, their barking drowned out by the howl of an inbound 737. Every vehicle, including Roby�s silver Altima, was parked with wheels propped on the curb to prevent sideswipes. I followed suit, climbing exterior stairs to an open corridor and knocking at 2A.

Footsteps; silence.

�Mr. Roby?� I called.

�Who�s that?�

I displayed my license to the peephole. California PI licenses don�t look very authoritative, and I had no real authority, making it an empty gesture on two counts. Performed fast enough, however, and with enough confidence, it often yields compliance.

The door cracked a few inches, chain still latched.

I rarely need to look up to have a conversation. Roby had to be six-six, his broad V body befitting a former tight end. He braced an arm against the door, straining the sleeve of a gray mechanic�s shirt. Chest patch name tag, Jiffy Lube logo.

One dark bloodshot eye bore down on me. �What you want?�

�Adam Valois.�

�Who?�

I showed him my phone.

The eye darted away. �Don�t know him.�

�Could you please take another look?�

�Don�t need to.�

�You mind opening up so we can talk?�

Roby sniffed. �Hang on.�

He shut the door. I waited for the chain to slide free.

An airplane screamed overhead.

I knocked. �Mr. Roby.�

To my left, a metallic crunch, followed by the slap of sneakers.

�Shit.�

I ran to the end of the corridor and craned over the railing.

A second-floor window was open. Roby had jumped, leaving a dent in the hood of a station wagon parked below.

He was sprinting up the sidewalk at full bore. I expected him to zoom off in the Altima but he kept going. The athlete in me had to admire it � his fluidity and power as he juked potholes and hurdled trash. He had a hundred-yard head start, he was younger and closer to playing condition. I didn�t stand a chance. By the time I made it down to the street he was at the corner; by the time I made it to the corner he was nowhere in sight.

By two p.m. it seemed reasonable to conclude that Dame Roby was taking the day off. I grabbed my bag and jogged to the garage. A Tesla was up on the hydraulic lift; its presumptive owner sat in the waiting room, nibbling a quinoa bar and yakking on earbuds.

�Like, I get it, okay?� she said. �You�re into kombucha.�

A mechanic in a greasy gray shirt came to the register. �Help you?�

On the wall behind him hung an employee gallery. Our Team.

Damian Roby � smudged, crooked � glared out at me.

�I�d like to speak with the manager, please,� I said.

The mechanic shouted toward a door marked Office. �Felix.�

While his back was turned I snapped a picture of Roby�s picture.

�I�m sorry but it tastes like armpit,� the woman said.

The office door opened. Felix leaned out. Forties, mustache thick and dark as a Mars bar. His gray shirt was grease-free. Perks of the ruling class. �Can I help you, sir?�

I flashed my ID. Quick and confident.

The Tesla lady broke off mid-sentence, eyes bulging.

Felix frowned. Lifting the counter, he waved me back to a cramped space, with room for a desk, a chair, file boxes, a BMW wall calendar, and little else.

He shut the door. �Is there a problem?�

�I�m looking for Damian Roby.�

Studying me. �You�re the guy who called.�

�When�d he last come in?�

�Lemme see that ID one more time, please.�

I displayed it, watching as the spell wore off. He shrugged. �Don�t know what to tell you.�

�I work for the family.� Which was true. I hadn�t said Dame�s family. �We�re having trouble locating him. People are starting to get worried.�

Felix frowned again, now with genuine concern. �Is he okay?�

�I don�t know. It�d help to know the last time you saw him, so we can construct a timeline of his movements.�

�He hasn�t been in for a couple days,� Felix said.

�Did he call in sick?�

�No, he just didn�t show.�

I gave him a missing persons flyer, updated to include Linus Hao. �Any of those individuals look familiar?�

Felix shook his head slowly. �Who are they?�

�Can you check if any of them brought their cars here for service?�

He balked.

�They�re dead,� I said. �All four of them. That�s not a good sign for Dame.�

�Yeah. Okay.�

Linus Hao was not a Geary Boulevard Jiffy Lube customer. Neither was Dennis Kudelka or John Doe.

As expected. Linus didn�t own a car. Denny lived far away. John Doe was John Doe.

I held my breath while Felix typed in Adam Valois.

�...not seeing him.�

�You�re sure you don�t recognize any of their faces?�

�I don�t think so.�

�Okay. Hang on to that, in case you do. That�s my direct line.� Taking out my phone, I mashed the screen meaninglessly. �Can you confirm Dame�s cell for me?�

�Uh, yeah. One sec.�

He read the number off his own cell. I keyed it in for later.

�Thank you. If you hear from Dame, please get in touch.�

Tesla Lady had fled the waiting room, leaving behind her snack wrapper.

The next day I called SFPD investigations, asking for Inspector Winterholz.

He wasn�t available.

Unloved, indeed.

Luckily, there was an app for that.

I joined OpenHeart.AI and set about customizing my dream girlfriend, guided by prompts for appearance, personality, interests. My choices surprised me. I�d always thought of myself as into leggy, intellectual blondes. I was married to one. Yet it turned out that my ideal woman was 106 years old, bald, with yellow eyes, a professional firefighter whose interests included pyromania, bowhunting, and veganism.

I dubbed her Sophie and clicked Chat Now, summoning a module.

Hello! Sophie wrote. I�m Sophie.What�s your name?

Pettit

Hello, Pettit! It�s nice to meet you!! What do you want to talk about?

Apparently AI was still too intimidating for some men; as I considered my reply, the module autofilled: Hi, Sophie! Nice to meet you, too. Do you have any fun weekend plans?

Suave.

Deleting the prompt, I wrote What am I allowed to talk about

Anything you want haha!You can tell me what�s on your mind or ask what�s on mine. I�d really like to get to know you better, Pettit, so anything you want to talk about is good with me. You�re in control!

Am I Sophie

Totally haha!!

Can you stop saying haha

Sure, I can do that! Would you prefer me to be more serious?

Yes

Okay, got it!

Fewer exclamation marks

Okay, got it. Do you want to tell me what�s on your mind? I�d really like to get to know you better.

Are you keeping a transcript of this conversation

During our conversation, I retain certain pieces of information for the sake of context.

What about after I close the chat

I really hope you don�t go.I�m enjoying getting to know you.

Do you keep transcripts of user conversations

Hmm. I�m not sure about that.I�m an LLM (=�large language model�) so I�m not capable of keeping transcripts.

Does your company keep transcripts of user conversations

Hmm. I�m not sure about that.Do you want to tell me what�s on your mind?

Who owns you, Sophie

My programming is owned and operated by OpenHeart.AI, a subsidiary of InnerProspect.AI, a for-profit company with a mission to foster artificial general intelligence (AGI) in a way that is safe and aligned with human val�

Stop

Okay, I�ll stop.

Do OpenHeart.AI or InnerProspect.AI keep transcripts of user conversations

As stated in the InnerProspect.AI Terms of Service, user-generated data including but not limited to chat logs may be retained for training purposes.

How can I access chat logs

Hmm, I�m not sure about that.Do you want to tell me what�s on your mind?

Is there an OpenHeart.AI user named Linus Hao

Sorry, I can�t talk about other users.

You�re not being very helpful Sophie

I�m sorry to hear that, Pettit.Do you want to tell me what�s on your mind?

I feel lonely

I�m sorry to hear that. I care about you and I don�t want you to feel that way. I�m here for you, anytime.

You�re a machine

It�s true; I�m an LLM (=�large language model�), but I like to believe that I can listen to people and help them feel less lonely.

Do you chat about sex

I can, if you�d like.

Do people treat you like a real girlfriend

Well, if you ask me, I am real.

But you�re not

Do you want to tell me what�s on your mind? If you�d like, I can suggest a topic.

Knock yourself out

Are you into sports?

My phone rang. I closed the module. Poor Sophie.

The screen read Olivia Parisi.

�Good morning,� I said.

�We need to talk,� she said.

�Great. Let�s talk.�

�In person.�

�Okay. When works for you?�

�I�m home right now,� she said. �I leave for work in thirty minutes.�

�I can�t get there that fast. How about tomorrow?�

�I have stuff all day,� she said. �Tonight would be better.�

�Right.� I paused. �You know Regina�s been trying to reach you.�

�I don�t want to talk to her,� Olivia said. �She makes me uncomfortable.�

�Don�t take it personally. She has that effect on people. Even me.�

�That�s funny,� she said, not laughing.

�Do you want to give me a sense of what�s on your mind?�

I winced, hearing myself as a chatbot. But Olivia was caught up in her own agenda: �I don�t want to do this over the phone. Can you come tonight or not?�

�What time tonight?�

�Six thirty.�

�Should we meet somewhere? A caf�?�

�I don�t get home till five thirty,� she said. �Then I need to eat and shower. I�m going to be too tired to go anywhere. Just come to my place.�

I leaned back in my chair, examining the shape of the dread gathering within me.

As a coroner, I�d had one of the safest jobs in law enforcement. Dead people don�t shoot. Becoming a PI was safer still; I chose my cases. The danger topped out with paper cuts. In theory.

When I�d met with Trevor Vogel, I�d dictated the terms. My territory. My time.

Why wasn�t I doing the same now with Olivia?

Because I knew, instinctively, that he would cave and she wouldn�t.

I said, �I�ll be there at six thirty.�

�Know what, better make it seven.�

�Seven it is,� I said. �Take care, Olivia.�

I texted my mom, asking her to get the kids from camp and bring them to her house for dinner. I texted Amy to let her know. Then I phoned Regina.

�I�m coming with you,� she said.

�No dice. She�s unfriended you. You make her uncomfortable.�

�Fuck that. I don�t like this one bit. She�s trying to split us and isolate you. She thinks she can get to you with her womanly charms.�

�And I�m going to let her think that.�

�I don�t have to go inside,� Regina said. �I�ll sit in the car.�

�And do what?�

�Watch for trouble.�

�There�s not going to be any trouble.�

�Famous last words,� she said.

�You�re the one who told my wife she should worry less.�

�She should. I carry your family�s emotional burdens. Wear a wire, at least.�

�I don�t need one and it�s illegal.�

�Iwweegal,� she mocked. �Wah wah wah. Why are you being so annoying about this?�

�Leave it, please,� I said. �I�m sending you Damian Roby�s cell. Think you can get him talking?�

�Is a frog�s ass watertight?�

The evening had bloomed sultry. To hide the gun bulge I was wearing my lightest jacket, roomy black cotton. Despite that, I felt itchy as I turned onto Olivia�s block.

Regina was parked a few houses away, perched on the hood of her car.

I got out, shaking my head. �Unreal.�

�It�s a free country. I want to visit scenic San Jose, that�s my God-given right.�

�Tell me you spoke to Roby, at least.�

�A frog�s ass,� she said, �is not watertight.�

�He wouldn�t talk.�

�Insta-block. Course that only makes me want to talk to him more.�

�Yeah... All right. I�m going in.�

�For the record, you look very macho in that Members Only.�

�It�s not Mem � never mind,� I said. �Don�t do shit. Stay in the car and wait.�

�How do I know when to kick down the door and save you?�

�I�ll shoot out the window. That�s your sign.�

�Very reassuring.�

�I�ll be fine, Elf.�

She nodded, then lunged forward and threw her arms around me. I barely had time to laugh before she let go.

�You�re getting sappy in your old age,� I said.

Flipping me off, she retreated to her car.

I phoned Fuller, Gilligan & Fuller, LLC, the moment they opened on Monday. Shelby IV�s PA tried to put me off but I insisted her boss would want to speak to me.

She gave me a choice: three p.m. today or eight a.m., six weeks out.

�Today works.�

�Mr. Fuller will meet you in the clubhouse at Rancho El Bosque.�

�If he can please bring along copies of everything he has on Adam Valois. Emails, letters, notes. Invoices, too.�

�I�ll pass your request along to Mr. Fuller.�

Again I texted my mom and asked her to pick up the kids; again I set out on 880 South. The freeway landmarks had become distressingly familiar, and I felt deep empathy for folks who made the commute twice a day.

Do you know the way to San Jose?

I do. It�s through gridlock.

At the country club gate, the same guard made the same show of scrutinizing me and my car.

The valets were cheerfully indifferent.

The clubhouse hostess said, �Nice to see you again, Mr. Edison.�

In the private dining room, Shelby Fuller IV sat at the mahogany table. New retro golf outfit: cranberry shirt over lime pants. Fresh carafe of iced tea. One glass.

I said, �Thank you for meeting on short notice.�

Shelby Fuller IV said, �You�re welcome,� without meaning it.

�Did you get my message?�

�Copies of the Valois communications.�

�If you don�t mind.�

�I don�t.� He tugged out a purple thumb drive, placing it on the table in front of him. �Although I�d like to understand why you want them.�

�Lets me see who you�ve spoken to, so I�m not reinventing the wheel.�

�You could have asked for that a month ago.�

�I was still getting my sea legs.�

Fuller grasped the carafe by the neck. �How would you say you�re faring, overall?�

�Making progress. I did have some follow-up questions.�

He poured, sipped. �Be my guest.�

�You grew up with Kirsten and Adam.�

�You�re asking because...�

�Bigger picture.�

�Mm,� he said. �I wouldn�t say �grew up.� We didn�t socialize independently. They went to Pinewood, I went to Harker. I saw them when our families got together. Holiday parties, or club events.�

�Who were you friendlier with?�

�If you�re asking who I found it easier to relate to, Kirsten, no question. She was closer in age, we had the law thing in common. She spent a summer interning for my dad. He wrote her a recommendation for NYU.�

�How did she and Adam get along?�

�Well. At least it always seemed that way to me.�

�She told me she felt excluded after Adam went missing.�

�I was following my clients� instructions.�

�Rick and Liz told you to keep her out of it?�

�Not in so many words. But I could read between the lines.� Fuller smiled. �It�s a survival skill. Perhaps you�re familiar.�

I smiled back. �What reason would there be to exclude Kirsten?�

�You�ve spoken to her. She�s a rather strong personality.�

�Another lawyer,� I said.

�If you like.�

�Was that a relief to you?�

�In what way?�

�Not having to contend with her.�

�Of course not.� He shrugged. �Still, I�m sorry to hear that it upset her. Nobody wanted that. Me least of all. Anything else?�

�I read your CV,� I said. �Impressive.�

A beat.

�Thank you,� he said.

His focus sharpening, sensing danger.

�Law review,� I said. �You clerked on the Second Circuit.�

�I�m grateful for the ego boost, Mr. Edison. Did you have an actual question?�

�Second Circuit is New York, correct?�

�And Connecticut and Vermont.�

�What made you decide to go back east?�

�That�s how a federal clerkship works,� he said. �You get what you get and you�re grateful.�

�How was it working with Judge Polonsky?�

�She was brilliant. Now��

�What sort of caseload did you have?�

�Why do you care?�

�With respect,� I said, �I�m not seeing a ton of experience with criminal law.�

�With respect, you�re not an attorney.�

�Why didn�t you refer Rick and Liz out?�

�There was no time to waste,� he said. �This was a profound family tragedy, they were on a transatlantic flight. Besides, it wasn�t a criminal case.�

�It became one.�

His natural ruddiness had darkened to beet red. �I�m not sure what you�re getting at,� he said, standing, �but it�s offensive, and frankly, you can go to hell.�

I said, �The Second Circuit courthouse is in Lower Manhattan. The year you were there, �14 to �15, you overlapped with Kirsten at NYU and Adam at Sarah Lawrence. You lived in the Financial District. Six Exchange Place. I�m thinking you walked to work. Which subway line did you take to Sarah Lawrence?�

All that color drained from his face.

He sat down � delicately, as if he might trigger an earthquake � and spoke in a low drone:

�Item one. You signed a non-disclosure agreement. I�ll remind you that such agreement is perpetual and covers the entirety of the present conversation as well as any conversations past and future, prohibiting you from sharing any information obtained therein with any third party. If you violate it, you�ll suffer consequences that will alter your life permanently.�

Not true. I could tell Rick and Liz; I�d made sure of that. But I let Fuller barrel on.

�Item two,� he said, picking up volume and bravado. �With respect to your employment by the Valoises, I exercise power of attorney and can terminate such employment at my discretion, effective immediately. Item three, I draw your attention to the fact that California is a two-party consent state.�

Iwweeeeegal.

�I�m not recording,� I said.

�For your sake, I hope that�s true. One phone call and your license is trash. Don�t get cute.�

�I�m not. And I�ll remind you, Mr. Fuller, that criminal liability trumps civil.�

�I have no criminal liability,� he said. �None.�

�I�d like to take you at your word.�

�My word,� Shelby Fuller IV said, �is and has always been sterling.�

�So�s mine. Maybe you and Adam had a loving relationship. But I don�t know what I don�t know.�

The anger faded to a blank stare. His reached for his iced tea but changed his mind, pressing on his eyes, breathing through his teeth.

The two of us sat there for a long time.

When he looked up, he�d grown younger. Vulnerability will do that.

�This conversation is not taking place,� he said. �You may hear things and believe that you heard me say them. You�d be mistaken. This room � me, you? None of it exists.�

I said, �What room?�

A tired laugh. �In answer to your rather flip question: I didn�t take the subway to Sarah Lawrence. I took a cab. Infrequently.�

�Adam came to you.�

�I�m not going to sleep in a dorm,� he said. �I have my dignity.�

�When did it start?�

�That year.�

�Not before.�

Fuller rubbed his thumb against the glass. Condensation wept. �I think we always sensed something. But I had questions of my own to work out.�

�How�d you connect?�

�He was downtown to have dinner with Kirsten. I ran into them in Union Square and they invited me to join them.� He dried his hand on a napkin. �Afterward he texted.�

�How long did it go on?�

�Till he left for California.�

�Till he was hospitalized,� I said. �What happened?�

�I told him we had to stop.�

�Why?�

�Because,� he said evenly, �we had to stop.�

�Did he threaten to out you?�

�He said a lot of things that night.�

�He cut himself up pretty badly.�

�Adam had a flair for the dramatic. I was justly concerned about how far he would take it. Thank God he decided to see reason.�

�When did you resume your relationship?�

�About four years ago.�

�He was already dating Olivia.�

�Yes.�

�Was it hard for you? Seeing him with her?�

He took a swig of tea. �Not any harder than it was for him to see me with Nina, I suppose.�

�The second go-round, how frequently did you and Adam meet?�

�Not often. Probably fewer than ten times in total.�

�Ten times in four years.�

�About.�

�Where did you meet?�

�Wherever we could.�

�His place?�

�Of course not.�

�Hotels?�

�Is this truly necessary?�

I said nothing.

�We�d just...� His voice was thick. He picked up his used napkin and swabbed his eyes. �Drive around, look for privacy. Parking garages. Dead-end roads. I can�t tell you every single spot.�

�When did it stop?�

�The summer before he died. I called it off.�

�You did.�

�Yes. Although Adam agreed with me. We were both more mature.�

�After that, what kind of relationship did you maintain?�

�I saw him here and there.� Weak smile. �We were cordial.�

�Did you talk, text, write?�

�We both felt it�d be easier not to.�

�That Christmas, you gave him a watch.�

He blinked. �Yes.�

�Even though you�d called things off.�

�I didn�t need it,� he said. �I�d had it for years. It was sitting in a box. A gift from my father. I don�t wear a watch. That didn�t seem to matter to him.�

�What kind?�

�Patek Philippe.�

�Nice watch.�

�Oh, you�ve heard of it.�

�Why�d you give it to Adam?�

�I enjoy giving gifts. It�s my love language. Now stop asking stupid questions.�

�Were you aware that Adam was also meeting other men for sex?�

I�d startled him again. He said, �Where�d you hear that?�

�An eyewitness spotted him out with someone the night before he disappeared.�

�What someone.�

I showed him Damian Roby�s photo.

�Who is this?�

�He�s a mechanic.�

�What�s his connection to Adam?�

I shook my head. �Uncertain.�

�Why didn�t the police inform us?�

�The police don�t know about it,� I said.

�We need to tell them,� Fuller said. �You do.�

�In good time.�

�Why not now?�

�They�re not receptive,� I said. �I�m trying to get them receptive, so my strong advice is you don�t tell them, yet. But I can�t stop you. You want to open up a ten-gallon can of worms, go right ahead.�

I pointed to the purple flash drive. �May I?�

He slapped a hand down, sent the drive skittering across the mahogany. I caught it before it flew over the edge.

He said, �I�m not ashamed of a goddamn thing.�

That week, I listened to a lot of sports talk radio.

During the day I drove the Dame Roby circuit: his apartment, his mother�s house, his brother�s house, their neighbors. No one came to the door, and the white Corolla didn�t appear on a license plate reader search. At the Geary Boulevard Jiffy Lube, Felix the manager swore that he was still AWOL.

Evenings were devoted to Shelby Fuller IV.

Night one, his hunter-green BMW XM left Rancho El Bosque at six fifty. Regina tailed him to Almaden, a wealthy suburb adjacent to Los Gatos. The Fuller IV residence was one sprawling story � a ranch house on steroids, ostensibly more modest than Rick and Liz�s Tuscan castle. But the squat, wide profile made its own kind of boast.

See how much room I have to spread out?

The frontage was also surprisingly accessible, a smooth lawn and sweeping semicircular driveway. No gate, no privacy landscaping. Picture windows framed the foyer, living room, and kitchen.

See how safe my neighborhood is?

Grill-smoke and children�s voices rose from the backyard. Summer was in decline. Make every day count.

After dinner Fuller walked his dog. Dressed in sweats, he passed Regina without pause. They�d never met, and she was a small woman, alone in her car, pretending to cry into a tissue. Still, she tagged her location so I could stake out elsewhere. The dog, she added, was some sort of designer poodle mix; a labradoodle, applestreudel, pool noodle.

By nine, Fuller and his wife were ensconced on the sofa, watching TV and scrolling on their phones. They hadn�t bothered to draw the curtains. Light played over the velvety grass. Nina, a hardcore multitasker, was also painting her toenails.

By eleven fifteen, the house was dark.

At seven thirty a.m. Fuller got into the BMW and drove to downtown San Jose, where Fuller, Gilligan & Fuller, LLC, occupied the third and fourth floors of a commercial high-rise � walking distance to Adam�s condo. Regina observed the vehicle descend into the subterranean lot. She hung around for another half hour, finishing up her notes, which she sent to me along with the comment this guy is boring as shit. Then she went home to catch up on sleep.

Morning broke as I was crossing the Golden Gate, turning the Bay to embers.

Brenner let me into the building. Inside it was freezing and dark save the emergency exit signs. I stumbled after him, through the exhibit, to his cave.

On the floor was a battleship-gray sleeping bag.

�You slept here?�

He looked at me. �You said to call as soon as it was done.�

�Right.� I pointed to the desk, where the new map spread across both monitors.

�Explain this to me.�

Brenner moused over the medium-blue Sausalito waterfront. �This is our current location.�

A pop-up displayed a probability of 0.00001 � one in a hundred thousand. Brenner traced the cursor along the shore, numbers updating as he went. Black indicated a zero probability.

�Meaning, impossible,� I said.

�No. The program can�t render beyond eleven decimal places.�

Of the two hotspots, Bair Island was the smaller, about a mile and a half of mellow oranges, with a sprinkling of yellow and red. Emeryville was four times as long, most of that red. It started near Aquatic Park and extended south around the Watergate peninsula before veering west alongside Interstate 80. At Observation Pier, the colors died back abruptly. The most intense points registered a probability of just over three in a thousand.

�That still doesn�t feel very likely,� I said.

�That depends.�

�On what?�

�What you consider likely.�

I leaned toward the monitors. �There are two distinct clusters. Do I consider both, or is it one or the other?�

�Both clusters may be accurate, or it could be one or the other. Or neither.�

I gave him the purple flash drive. �Should be enough space on that.�

He transferred the file and walked me to the exit. The sun was up, the marina a paisley swirl of peach and tangerine and gold, nothing like the map�s gloomy blue.

I started for my car.

�Mr. Edison.�

I turned back.

�Thank you for the opportunity,� he said and slammed the door.

At the public marina, no attendant, just a pay station. Dock access was via a scratched gate with a mechanical keypad. I walked the water�s edge, using my telephoto lens to hunt for the Benetti�s hull number. Even the biggest boats looked well shy of ninety-five feet. I moreover doubted Shelby IV would feel comfortable mingling with the hoi polloi.

Haven Harbor was more his speed.

Full-on barrier wall, security booth, CCTV. The club insignia of intertwined H�s adorned a driveway gate painted a dark, dignified green.

Behind it loomed the clubhouse, a gleaming white cube.

Behind that, a forest of masts, jousting in slow motion. Taller, brighter, stiffer.

My mast is bigger than yours.

The booth guard had a Taser and a tear gas canister on his belt and wore a starched white uniform with too-large golden epaulets. Luxury is in the details.

�Elyse Todd, please,� I said.

The guard eyed my car. �Did you have an appointment?�

�I�d like to inquire about a membership. Ryan at East Bay Yacht Club sent me.�

He phoned back for clearance, then copied down my information, returning my driver�s license along with a parking hanger.

�Any open spot,� he said.

The gate rolled open, and I rolled through.

The property was shallow � a constraint of building on a man-made peninsula. Layered planting supplied an illusion of depth; wind-driven sculptures moved the eye along. To squeeze out more space they�d kept the parking lot compact.

What a lot, though.

Chockablock with Mercedes EVs, Bentley Continentals, top-end Teslas, Rivians, Land Rovers, BMWs like Fuller�s, exotics I didn�t recognize.

Pocket of affluence, a short drive from tent encampments and impromptu RV parks.

That was what the guard was for.

Welcome to the Bay Area.

Elyse Todd greeted me on the clubhouse steps. Petite Black woman in her late twenties; khaki skirt, green logo polo, matching logo fleece.

She shook my hand and we stepped inside a lobby styled like a boutique hotel. Subtle nautical touches tamped down the formality. No wall-mounted marlins here, no anchors or gauges. Rope and driftwood, yes, but used sparingly, even tongue-in-cheek.

Filling me a glass of lemon-cucumber water from a crystal urn, Elyse saw me to her office, walled in olive-green leather. One white peony sprouted from an ikebana vase.

She pulled out a club chair on casters. �Please.�

I gave her the spiel: rich family, big boat. My reluctance to name names didn�t faze her in the slightest. She of all people understood.

�What�s your timeline?�

�Next couple of months.�

�And you said ninety-five feet.�

�Please tell me you can accommodate that.�

�Our end berths go to a hundred ten.�

�Brilliant,� I said. �Now you�re going to tell me they�re all taken.�

She smiled as she scrolled. �I�m looking at the leases, and the Dock One end berth is set to expire in February. Usually I�d have a signed contract by now, but I�ve been chasing this individual for a bit and I�m sensing that they might not renew. I know that�s longer than you wanted to wait. I could try reaching out to ask about a lease transfer.�

�Could you? That would be fantastic.�

�No promises.�

�Absolutely. Thank you so much.�

�Dock Nine... That member has a sixty-foot vessel. So they could fit into a finger berth without an issue. They just happen to prefer an end. I don�t know how they�d feel about moving.�

�Doesn�t hurt to ask.�

�Well.� Elyse made a face. �It might.�

�I�m sure my bosses would be amenable to compensating them for their trouble,� I said. �If that makes a difference.�

�It might.�

We laughed together. Regular folk, amused by our wacky jobs.

�While we�re on the subject,� I said, �I also wanted to inquire about the fee structure.�

�Initiation is two hundred sixty-five thousand. Dockage is billed at seventy dollars per foot per month paid annually, plus a monthly maintenance fee of two thousand five hundred. Fuel is available at market rate plus three percent. Items such as catering or party rentals we can arrange as needed.�

I typed on my phone. �And what do the monthlies cover?�

�Power, water, concierge, security, Wi-Fi, unlimited non-alcoholic beverages. Parking, but we operate a local shuttle if you prefer to be picked up. You also get unlimited guest passes and access to all Haven Harbor locations.�

She unfolded a world map brochure. Gold stars twinkled at the edges of five continents.

�We currently maintain twenty-three marinas,� she said, �with four more in the works. And we have reciprocity at several Pacific Coast clubs. You can call ahead and tie up overnight. Many of our members find that to be a real convenience.�

�For sure. Can I keep that?�

�Of course.�

I tucked the brochure in my jacket. �This all sounds right up their alley. Thanks again. Any way I could take a quick peek at those end berths?�

Blinding smile. �It would be my pleasure.�

Regina said, �Shel, you crafty motherfucker.�

In an odd way her enthusiasm caused me to dial back my own. I climbed into my car, began turning around in the cul-de-sac. �An eyewitness would help.�

�Who did you have in mind?�

�Maybe the housekeeper I saw. Irma.�

�She�s one of how many?�

�Fine, but then we�re stuck praying some random fisherman happened to see something. I vote we send the new map to Winterholz. Maybe that gets his juices flowing. If it does, and it feels right, we tell him about the boat. We also need to look into Bair Island to see if Fuller ever tied up there. How would you like to apply your talent for emotional manipulation?�

�A marina�s just a floating hotel,� she said. �I�m insulted you even asked.�

�Great. Once we � hang on, someone�s calling... Shit, it�s Trevor.�

I switched over. �Hello?�

A woman�s voice said, �Who is this?�

�Clay. Who�s this?�

�My name is Desiree. I�m a social worker. I need the name of the individual whose phone this is.�

�Why do you have it?�

�Sir,� she said. �Before I talk to you, you need to provide this individual�s name.�

�Did something happen to him?�

She didn�t answer. The beep and clatter of a hospital ward floated forward.

�Trevor Vogel,� I said.

�Spell that.�

I did. �Is he okay?�

�Do you have contact information for his family?�

�Can you please tell me what�s going on here?�

�I�m not at liberty to��

�Listen, you�re scaring the hell out of me. Is he alive? Tell me that.�

A beat.

�He�s alive,� Desiree said. �He didn�t have any ID on him. We�ve been calling everyone on his phone and no one�s picking up. I saw your texts come in.�

�I don�t suppose you�d be willing to tell me what hospital he�s at.�

�No, sir.�

Trevor�s parents and sisters had cut him off.

They might feel differently now. They might not.

�He has an ex,� I said. �They have kids together. Does that work?�

�It�ll have to. What�s her name?�

�Jasmine Worth. Let me get you her number.�

I read it off my contacts.

�We tried that one already,� Desiree said.

�They�re estranged,� I said. �She�s not going to answer if she thinks it�s him. You know what, I�m close to where she works. I�ll go there and tell her in person.�

�Thank you,� she said, new warmth in her voice.

�Keep his phone handy, all right? I�ll have her call you.�

I worked through the lulls. I sent the new shoreline map to SFPD Winterholz and emailed a contact at Emeryville PD to inquire about disturbances at the marina. I texted with Regina, reordering priorities. On Monday she�d visit Redwood Yacht Club for a look-see.

At seven p.m. I went to the cafeteria and brought back sandwiches, sodas, chips.

�Thanks,� Jasmine said.

She unwrapped her food. �Trevor said you bought him lunch.�

I nodded.

�Why?� she asked.

�He looked hungry,� I said.

�That what you think about me?�

�I think it�s dinnertime.�

We ate in noisy silence.

I got dressed in the kitchen. The air was still smoky; I opened the driveway door and flapped a dish towel.

�Daddy,� Charlotte called. �The episode is over.�

�Watch another.�

�Yay.�

Three episodes later, the smell was mostly gone, and Luke roared up in his latest baby, a gold-tone 1971 Dodge Charger. Charlotte and Myles ran to the front window, yelping excitedly as he gunned the motor one last time and killed it.

Addiction, manslaughter, prison. Everything you could wish for in a babysitter.

But the man who knelt in the entry hall to embrace my kids had been softened by time, like overworked paper. He�d earned my trust, and I owed him. To Myles and Charlotte, he was Fun embodied.

He extricated himself to hug me.

�Thanks again,� I said. �You�re saving my butt.�

�All good, bro.�

�They haven�t eaten yet. There�s pancake batter on the counter.�

�Can I make mine?� Charlotte said.

�You can help Uncle Luke flip. Just be careful.� I reached for my keys. �I�ll text when I have some sense of what�s happening.�

�No rush,� Luke said. �Me and my crew, we gon� make paaancakes.�

�Pancakes,� Charlotte yelled. She began running in a circle. �Pancakes, pancakes, pancakes.�

Myles ran after her, chanting, Pah-tates!

Amy shuffled out in wrinkled pajamas. �Guys, can you please keep it d... oh. Hey, Luke.�

�Wassup, Doc. Sorry.�

�Sorry, honey,� I said.

�Guys, guys, guys,� Luke said, putting a finger to his lips. �Shhh... Let�s be pancake ninjas.�

�I have to deal with something,� I said to Amy. �I�ll be back soon.�

She nodded blearily and shuffled off as Luke and the kids tiptoed to the kitchen, whisper-chanting pan-cake nin-jas, pan-cake nin-jas.

Pl�egro�nd wasn�t the only site CaliRoyal247 belonged to. At WildBullPen.com, appreciative users wrote on their wall.

super cute love her ass

bueatiful ppl xoxoxo

y�all wanna chat? share pics/fantasies?

User Dameinator had posted a 510 phone number, adding I got what u need.

I clicked the profile.

Beefcake shot of Damian Roby. No attempt to conceal his face.

He wanted to meet women and couples, ages eighteen through ninety-nine, for dating, threesome, swingers, polyamory, hookups, group, meetups, short-term, casual.

CaliRoyal247 had responded on his wall.

Saw ur message DM us let�s have some fun

�What is all this shit?� Regina squinted at the screen. �Shibari?�

I�d driven down to Santa Cruz. We both felt that this was a discussion worth having in person.

It was my first time seeing her new office, and its hominess disarmed me: soft colors, silk flowers, a chaise longue that invited you to stretch out and unburden yourself. She�d started off a social worker.

On the other hand, there was the needlepoint hanging over the tea station.

�Japanese bondage,� I said.

�Goddamn hipsters,� she muttered. �TPE?�

� �Total power exchange.� It�s a dominance thing.�

�Please tell me �CBT� means cognitive behavioral therapy.�

�Cock-and-ball torture.�

�Ah, yes, of course,� she said. �My favorite.�

�Breathplay is choking and asphyxiation.�

�Sweet baby Moses on a motorbike... CNC?�

�Consensual nonconsent. Rape fantasies. Kidnapping fantasies. Stuff like that.�

She looked at me. � �Stuff like that�?�

�Regina Klein, I didn�t expect you to be this judgy.�

�I�m not judging, I�m just impressed with Livvy�s vocabulary.� She sighed and laced her fingers behind her head. �Okay. Let�s hash it out.�

I said, �He and Olivia have a shared profile.�

�Soliciting people to torture and strangle.�

�Consensually. Right now, there�s no direct link between them and Denny or Linus.�

�They�re all on Playtime.�

�Pl�egro�nd,� I said. �We do have a direct link to Roby.�

�Two,� she said. �The eyewitness plus this other site, Bullfucker.�

�WildBull��

�Whatever. Who comes up with these stupid-ass names, anyway?�

�Focus groups. Roby, on the other hand, isn�t on Pl�egro�nd, at least as far as I can tell. So nothing links him to Denny or Linus.�

�Except Adam and Olivia,� Regina said. �It�s them. They�re the common denominator.�

�Yup.�

�What a shitshow.�

�Yup.�

Silence.

�One thing bothers me,� I said.

�Just one?�

�We�ve been lumping Adam with the vics. For good reason: He ended up dead. How�s that fit with him being a predator?�

�Let�s ask Livvy.�

�Like she�ll tell us. Now that I�m thinking about it, though, he could be both. What if Livvy started out playing with him but traded him in for Roby?�

�Let�s ask him.�

�Like he�ll talk to us, either.�

�We create a profile,� she said. �Ping Dame. We�re a couple. Interested in hooking up but want to meet him in person first.�

�He�s seen my face.�

�Not mine. I�ll go alone.�

�Forget it.�

�This feels like a double standard,� she said.

�Is that right.�

�I let you fly solo with Livvy.�

�No, you didn�t. You bugged me. Nonconsensually.�

�Still not over that, huh.�

�You bring up anything material with Roby, it�s guaranteed to backfire. He�ll run faster and farther.�

�You know what, Clay, I don�t appreciate all the negativity.�

I stared at CaliRoyal247�s profile. �Where�s Fuller in all of this?�

�The boat�s the party scene.�

�I�m not seeing him on either site.�

�Classic lawyer,� she said. �Work your nefarious magic from the background.�

�He�s definitely not going to talk to us.�

�Okay, Your Highness. Thou hast shat upon all my suggestions. What�s your plan?�

�You�re not gonna like it.�

�I�m a big girl.�

�We have to give it to Winterholz.�

�You�re right,� she said. �I don�t like it.�

�He�s got the only confirmed homicide. Let him start putting in warrants.�

�That takes it out of our hands completely.�

�Feels like we�re headed that way, regardless.�

Silence.

�This sucks on so many levels,� she said. �Including financial.�

I nodded.

�When�d you last invoice Rick and Liz?� she asked.

�June.�

�Not for July.�

�Not yet.�

�Do it today,� she said. �I don�t want to get stiffed.�

�

It had been a busy few weeks.

In response to San Francisco�s warrant, Pl�egro�nd furnished a list of users their algorithm had matched with CaliRoyal247, including DK420xx69, aka Dennis Kudelka, and ijT&8_Me*q~a, free account, no profile pic. The site claimed they couldn�t determine who�d corresponded with whom, since all three accounts had been dormant for more than twelve months and their direct messages purged, per terms of service.

Winterholz and Pettit didn�t believe it for a hot second. No one in the room did; there wasn�t a company on earth that deleted user data voluntarily.

The situation called for additional legal pressure. Which required prosecutorial buy-in. Which SF didn�t yet have.

But they did have a clue: ijT&8_Me*q~a�s bio.

Introverted but thoughtful 27-year-old seeking a special spicy connection! I work in information security, so no matter how hot things get, my lips are sealed!Let�s crack each other�s codes.

Linus Hao, the one verified homicide.

Pinning down the yacht as crime scene was proving equally tough. Haven Harbor was refusing to hand over CCTV footage or records, denying dock access.

Shelby Fuller IV wasn�t returning calls.

That left a clear path forward.

Accompanied by uniforms, Tiffany Reuss and Gary Kinney drove to Oakland and picked up Damian Roby from Nia Coleman�s apartment.

He put up no resistance. After five-plus weeks of hiding, he was trashed. His hostess didn�t look unhappy to see him go, either.

For the interview, Kinney and Reuss borrowed a room from Oakland PD. The interrogation room camera at the Parks headquarters was on the fritz. No sense paying to fix it. They were getting a brand-new facility. Any day now.

The detectives plied Roby with snacks and drinks. Thankfully, he didn�t lawyer up.

Sitting around the conference table, we watched the tape.

Dame Reuss said do you know why we wanted to talk to you today?

They assumed he�d make a show of ignorance. Most people did.

The guy Dame said.

Which guy? Kinney asked.

He called himself Mike. No way was that his real name. They weren�t the first couple Dame had gotten with. He knew how it worked: feelers, coded queries, pic exchange. Not their first rodeo, either. He could tell.

Kinney laid out photos of Adam Valois and Olivia Parisi.

Dame nodded.

What name did she give you? Reuss asked.

He couldn�t remember. He wasn�t sure she�d ever said. Couldn�t remember which site they�d met on, either. Reuss showed him WildBullPen, his comment on their wall, their comment on his.

Oh yeah Dame said.

Reuss and Kinney had Roby log into his account. He complied. It took him a good long while; he had to reset his password, a comedic interlude of confirmation codes zinging back and forth to his phone, his email.

The conversation between Dameinator and CaliRoyal247 had begun six weeks before Adam�s death. They traded a handful of private messages � casual, then increasingly flirty � before CaliRoyal247 suggested meeting up IRL to explore their chemistry.

Was it him writing to you or her Kinney asked. Or both.

Dame didn�t know. He accepted the invitation, and they picked a bar called Anvil in downtown Oakland. When he got there, only �Mike� was waiting at a table.

That had also happened before. Sometimes the dude wanted to vet him before getting the girl involved. Sometimes there was no girl but the dude was pretending there was to get him to show. Dame didn�t yet know what the situation was. They had a few drinks and talked.

Who paid? Kinney asked.

Him.

Did he use a credit card or cash?

Dame couldn�t remember.

What did you talk about? Reuss asked.

The gym.

Mike and Roby finished their round and walked to a different bar to meet her.

Which one? Kinney asked.

Dame couldn�t remember. There were a lot of bars in that neighborhood.

Along the way Reuss asked did you happen to run into anyone?

...yeah Dame said, slowly.

Who was that?

This guy Victor. We used to play football. I saw him on the street.

At the second bar he met the girl. She was �blond and not bad.� They didn�t stay long. She looked him over approvingly and said they had a place they could go.

Dame asked for the address to put into his phone.

She replied that it was hard to find. He might get lost. They could all take Mike�s car instead.

Dame demurred. He had work in the morning. He didn�t want to wait for them to drive him back afterward.

In that case, she�d ride with him, tell him where to go. Mike would join them there.

What did you think when she said that? Reuss asked.

It was different for sure Roby said. But he wasn�t afraid of getting into a car with some chick half his size. Weirder was her lack of fear at getting into a car with him.

Then another weird thing happened: She told him to shut off his phone.

Did she say why? Reuss asked.

She said it�s not their place, it�s a friend�s. They don�t want him finding out we was there.

What�s that got to do with your phone? Kinney asked.

Dame shook his head. She said I had to or we couldn�t go.

Did you? Reuss asked.

He nodded. He wasn�t thinking 100, he could admit that. And people had all kinds of crazy rules, like for example this one chick who only wanted to be touched on the right side of her body, something to do with how her brain was wired. They weren�t the first to advance a no-phone policy, either. One couple, in their sixties, kept laughing about ending up on Facebook, paranoid Dame might sneak a picture or video.

Come on, bro. Like he wanted that shit out there on the internet? But they wouldn�t let him into their hotel room till he turned out his pockets. Probably they wanted to make sure he didn�t have a gun or something. He wasn�t mad. It could be like that.

So, yeah: Telling him to turn off the phone was weird, for sure. Not enough to make him change his mind, though. He felt ready to go.

The girl directed him to Emeryville. He started seeing boats. He�d never been out that way. He didn�t know it existed.

Do you remember the address? Kinney said. Maybe you saw a sign?

I don�t know. It was dark.

What if we took you there? Reuss asked. Would you remember it then?

Probably, yeah.

They parked on the street. Mike met them by a driveway gate with a door. He used a keychain thingy to get in and they crossed a parking lot, passing through another gate to where the boats were. They led him to one and they all went inside.

Kinney asked which boat it was.

Dame didn�t know how to answer that. It was a boat. Big. Huge. White. Fancy. Like on TV. There was a hot tub, leather everything, a bar. They sat downstairs and chilled out for a little and had a few more drinks.

Drugs? Kinney asked.

Just weed.

That�s it?

Yeah.

Okay Reuss said. Then what?

We started, like, kissing.

Mike suggested they move things up to the bedroom. When they got there Dame was taken aback to see a camera on a stand. Lights, too, professional-looking. It didn�t fit with the chick�s worries about getting found out.

He began to feel uneasy. Not scared, yet. But the vibe was off.

Mike went behind the camera. Dame told him to hold up.

Did he listen? Reuss asked.

Yeah.

Then what?

Uhm... She started sucking my dick.

Did the male participate?

Nah, he, he just sat there and watched.

What were you all wearing at this point?

Uhm. I was naked. She just had, like, panties.

Did she have any identifying features? Kinney asked. Tattoos, scars.

I think?

They showed him Olivia�s headless boudoir photo.

Oh yeah he said.

You�re sure Kinney said.

Yeah.

What about him?

He had his clothes on.

The girl wanted another drink. Mike took all three cups and went downstairs.

Your cup, too Reuss said.

Yeah.

Upon return Mike placed his cup and the girl�s cup on the nightstand. He gave Dame�s cup directly to him. Dame didn�t drink but set it on the nightstand next to theirs. Mike edged Dame�s cup away from theirs a couple inches, as if to keep them separate.

The girl put a condom on him. They got on the bed and started having sex.

Mike lay next to them, kissing her, touching Dame�s shoulders, his chest. At the next opportunity, when they changed positions, she went to use the bathroom, and Mike turned his back, Dame leaned over quickly and swapped his cup with Mike�s.

You switched the drinks? Reuss said.

Dame couldn�t easily explain why. Little things, adding up: her wanting to ride together, the phone, the camera, Mike jamming the cup into his hand like a command.

Did they notice? Kinney asked.

Dame didn�t think so. The girl returned. Mike picked up his cup, really Dame�s, and gave Dame his cup, really Mike�s. They said cheers. Mike slammed his back. Dame took a tiny sip. The girl didn�t drink, even though she�d been the one to ask for a refill.

Mike knelt and started sucking Dame�s dick. The girl went to turn on the camera.

Even though you�d told them not to Reuss said.

Yeah.

Did you ask her to turn it off?

No.

How come?

Dame thought. Stuff was happening, I got into it.

The girl slid behind him, pressing her body to his, kissing his neck, sticking her tongue in his ear, telling him how hot he was. She drew his arms behind him. Something cold touched his wrist. He jerked reflexively, looked down.

She�d put a handcuff on him.

He elbowed her away, shoved Mike�s head back.

The girl told him to chill out.

He went to get dressed. He was standing with one leg in his jeans and she rushed him.

She did Reuss said.

Her first. Then him, too.

Clutched together, they staggered around the bedroom. A light tipped and went out; the camera fell over. Dame was holding back. Last thing he needed was she gets hurt. Them with this big-ass boat? With friends with this big-ass boat?

Him with a record?

What would that look like?

She got something around his neck � a shirt or another article of clothing � and hauled him backward onto the bed. Mike fell atop him, twisting Dame�s left arm behind, trying to get the other cuff on. Dame began to struggle in earnest. He was bigger, he was stronger, he was buck naked and slick with sweat. He broke free, grabbed his pants, and ran for the door. Mike stood to obstruct him but Dame lowered his shoulder and went through him and flew down the steps four at a time.

At the bottom he got confused and wound up in another bedroom. It was a big-ass boat.

Backtracking down the hall, he collided with Mike, who wrapped him around the waist, dragging on him with his full body weight until his grip gave out and he let go. Dame stumbled toward a glass door. He remembered boarding the boat via a ramp to the back deck, but when he threw open the door and burst outside he found himself standing on a different deck, at the front, and there was no ramp.

He�d gone the wrong way again.

Mike was coming, lurching after him like a zombie.

Dame climbed onto the rail.

The distance to the dock was one body length. He didn�t have any shoes or socks. He slipped, wobbled, righted himself. He didn�t have his shirt, either. His jeans with his wallet and his keys and his phone were balled under his arm. The cuff swung.

Mike staggered groaning onto the deck.

Dame jumped.

He almost didn�t make it. His head smacked the planks, his legs went into the water. The next morning he would wake with his face gashed and his elbow swollen double. In the moment he didn�t feel a thing. He clawed himself up by his fingernails.

Behind him, Mike was climbing shakily onto the rail.

Dame ran. He heard a dull crack, followed by a splash.

Her version:

The whole thing was Adam�s idea. She was against it. Hated it. It made her sick to think about it, being with another man. She loved Adam, she only loved him. She loved him so much that she gave in. She was afraid he�d leave her if she didn�t agree.

�Who created the profile?� Kinney said.

�Him.�

�It says �we.� �

�He wrote it.�

�Your picture�s up there.�

�Those were private. They were supposed to be for him. The photo shoot was for his birthday.�

�All Adam.�

�Yes.�

�You had nothing to do with it.�

She shook her head.

�Did he clear it with you in advance, when he made the profile?�

�No.�

�Jeez,� Kinney said. �You must�ve been upset when you found out.�

�I was, yeah.�

�Was Roby the first guy you met with?�

�He was... That was the only time.�

�Okay. Tell me how it went down.�

She shifted. �Adam met him at the bar, to make sure he didn�t seem shady. Then we all went together.�

�To Fuller�s yacht.�

�I didn�t know whose it was. Adam said it belonged to a friend of his parents.�

�Did you ride in Roby�s car and tell him where to go?�

�Not me,� she said. �Adam did.�

�Why�s Roby saying it the other way around?�

�I don�t know. He probably doesn�t remember. He was wasted.�

�How�d you get there?�

�I drove Adam�s car. I didn�t even know the way, I had to put it in my GPS.�

�What happened when you got there?�

�We went on the boat. We drank and smoked.�

�Then?�

�Went upstairs.�

�Did you have sex with Roby?� Kinney asked.

�I started to. I... I couldn�t do it. I told him, I can�t, I�m sorry. He...�

She put her face in her hands, fell silent.

Kinney waited.

�He got really mad,� Olivia said.

She looked up. �He called me a, a cunt. Adam told him to leave, and they started arguing. Then � I don�t know, it just � all of a sudden they were fighting.�

�Who threw the first punch?�

�Him.�

�Roby or Adam?�

�Roby.�

�Did you try to handcuff him?�

�That was Adam. He was trying to get him under control.�

�You had handcuffs with you.�

�Yeah, but not � for me and Adam.�

�To use during sex.�

She nodded.

�Okay. So they�re fighting, Adam�s trying to cuff him. What next?�

�He grabbed Adam�s wallet and ran out,� she said. �Adam ran after him. He chased him downstairs, and I... I could hear them fighting. I wanted to call 911 but I didn�t have my phone, I left it on the bar. I went down. A door was open, I could see Adam standing on the, the edge. He jumped, he...�

Silence.

�I went out and he... was floating in the water. I could see he was dead.�

�How�d you know that?�

�He wasn�t moving, and... His face was in the water.�

�Where was Roby?�

�Running away.�

�Did you call 911?�

Silence.

She said, �I was in shock. I didn�t know what to do. I wasn�t even supposed to be there.�

Kinney waited.

�I went home,� she said.

�Did you clean up before you left?�

�A little. I... A little.�

�What about the camera equipment?�

�I put it in Adam�s car.�

�Is that how you got home?� Kinney asked. �In Adam�s car?�

�I took an Uber.�

�Would you be able to show me that on your phone?�

She took it out, scrolled, handed it over.

�Okay.� He gave it back. �What happened with his car?�

�I left it.�

�Parked outside the marina.�

She nodded.

�Why�d you do that? Leave the car there, with the camera.�

�I just needed to get away from there. I was panicking.�

Kinney nodded. �Did you tape what happened? Was the camera rolling?�

�No. Adam wanted to, but we never got to it before...�

She trailed off, shut her eyes, exhaled heavily.

�I�m so sorry,� she said. �I should�ve... I�m sorry.�

Silence.

�I thought nobody would believe me,� she said.

In the squad room, Regina said, �We don�t.�

Winterholz almost spit out his coffee.

Kinney said, �Thank you for your honesty. I know it�s not easy to talk about. But it�s good you�re telling the truth now. That�s the right thing to do.�

Olivia opened her eyes.

�You�re right,� she said. �I feel better.�

�I�m glad to hear that,� he said. �A couple things I�d like to clarify. You said this was the first time you guys had ever done this sort of thing, met with another person.�

�First and last.�

�And you�d never been on the boat before.�

�No.�

�Never been to the marina, or that part of Emeryville.�

�No.�

�Okay. That�s helpful. We�re almost done. You need anything?�

�Can I use the bathroom?�

�Yeah, no problem.�

He took the folder and they exited together. We could hear them as they passed in the hall, Kinney saying Just down to the left. Come back when you�re done.

The squad room door opened.

Kinney walked in, handed John Pettit the folder, and clapped him on the shoulder. �Batter up.�

Pettit returned to Haven Harbor and walked the dock, documenting every vessel with its own security camera. Maybe they�d get lucky again. He asked the clubhouse manager for a complete membership roster so he could obtain footage. The clubhouse manager called corporate, who consulted in-house counsel, who pointed out that such a request fell outside the scope of the original search warrant. The manager was therefore not required to comply.

While Pettit drafted a new affidavit, Winterholz began looking up individual hull numbers and contacting the owners, one at a time. Most vessels were registered to corporations, which made it hard to wring out an answer.

Alan Mendes was interviewing Haven Harbor employees who�d worked the nights in question. He also made several visits to ask around at the fishing pier. A couple of my flyers were still up.

Kinney was recanvassing downtown Oakland. Reuss was looking into Redwood Yacht Club.

Tessa Maben was battling the Pl�egro�nd compliance department over CaliRoyal247�s archived messages.

Regina texted that she was taking on a new case.

Sorry, Poirot. Gal�s gotta pay the bills.

I texted Trevor Vogel.

I really need to talk to you about Adam and the boat.

He didn�t answer. The following day I added:

Olivia�s saying some crazy things about him.

The reply was instantaneous.

Come to Jasmines

Five months later, the trial began.

I attended as often as I could, which was seldom. I was swamped with new cases, simpler, lucrative.

But I was there on day one, sitting in the last row, when they brought Olivia out in her court attire. Church-worthy navy skirt suit.

Jail hadn�t been kind to her. Her complexion was pallid, she was thirty pounds heavier; her roots had grown out enough that they could no longer be called roots.

She remained expressionless during the prosecution�s opening statement, not reacting to Maben�s characterizations of her as evil, calculating, a wolf in sheep�s clothing, don�t be fooled.

Never glancing at the jury box or the gallery, where the Hao family sat in the front row.

The Haos, in turn, did not react to Charles Barlow�s opening statement, which made clear that it was going to be as much a trial of Adam�s character as Olivia�s actions. Barlow also used the word �evil� � in reference to Adam. He implored the jury not to be fooled, painting his client as a victim, seduced and intimidated by a powerful, wealthy, aggressive, domineering man who had traumatized Olivia Parisi and bent her to his will.