In the morning Iris left a mug on the table and didn't ask Nina how she'd slept. The couch had been too short. Nina was grateful not to have to turn that into a statement about the night.
Adam arrived before she'd finished her coffee. She watched him from the window, standing outside his car with nothing in his hands. No food, no consolation dressed as a practical object. He looked up and saw her. She stepped back before he could wave.
“I'll call you,” she told Iris.
“When you can. I have work.”
“I know.”
Nina put the officer's card into the pocket of her coat, where she could reach it. Her work phone was in her bag, useless for work now but still a physical thing the company would want back. She'd kept the small set of notes she'd made at her desk. None of them could tell her what Beth had done with her life after Nina closed the case.
The place Adam drove to had an outside stair and faded curtains visible behind its windows. He parked near the bottom, leaving the engine running.
“She said you could knock,” he told Nina.
“I saw.”
He looked at the upper walkway. “I'll be here.”
She took her bag. Part of her wanted him to come upstairs so he couldn't do anything elsewhere. Another part wanted ten minutes of her life in which he wasn't standing in it.
Beth hadn't opened the door all the way. Nina could see a chain, the corner of a dresser, and a boy on the floor looking for something beneath a bed.
“He isn't coming in,” Beth said.
Adam had followed as far as the bottom steps. Beyond him the car sat with its engine running, turned toward the exit.
“I know,” Nina said.
“You brought him.”
“I made him bring me.”
Beth looked down at Adam. “Did you tell her why?”
He didn't answer.
The boy sat back on his heels. “Mom, I can't find the other battery.”
“Look in the side pocket.”
“I did.”
“Then look again.”
Beth was wearing a man's sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up unevenly. One cuff had come down over her hand. She tugged it back with her teeth, then unhooked the chain.
“Ten minutes,” she told Nina.
The room smelled of toast. A small folding table stood under the window. On it were a camera, a crumpled paper tower and a row of tiny people made from foil. Nina's foot caught a bag just inside the door. She righted it before anything fell out.
“Don't,” Beth said.
Nina took her hand away.
The boy found a battery under the bed and blew dust off it. He glanced at Nina without getting to his feet.
“I'm Nina.”
“I know.”
He fitted the battery into the camera. A tiny light appeared, and something in his face eased. He set the camera on the table and moved a foil person an inch to the left.
“Theo,” Beth said, “not now.”
“It's where it was.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
He saw her expression and stopped. He sat on the edge of the bed with the camera in his lap.
Nina stayed by the door. Beth hadn't asked her to sit.
“I'm not with Threadline today,” she said.
“Are they closed?”
“I've been suspended.”
Beth's face didn't change. “You want me to be pleased?”
“No. I wanted you to know who's asking.”
“I know who's asking.”
She went to the little kettle on the dresser and moved a paper cup away from its base. Her hands were busy in a way Nina recognized from her own kitchen, needing a task that would finish before the conversation did.
“Adam says Martin was looking for you.”
Theo's head came up. Beth looked at him, then back at Nina.
“Martin is dead.”
“Yes.”
“He doesn't get to be the only person you believe because he died first.”
Nina felt the sentence arrive where she'd been keeping his warning. “I haven't decided what I believe.”
Beth made a small impatient gesture. “You've decided before.”
There it was, the conversation Nina had expected and feared. She could ask to see the reply, explain what she had found, show that she had begun questioning herself before Beth demanded it. Instead she said, “Tell me what you need me to hear.”
Beth's eyes narrowed, not softened.
“I don't know you.”
“No.”
“He said you'd come. Martin, years ago. Not you by name. Someone who could sort it out if I'd just stop being difficult. You sound like them.”
Theo put the camera on the bed. “Mom.”
“What?”
“Don't do the whole thing.”
Beth looked at him for a long moment. “All right.”
Nina could have thanked the boy for making it easier. She didn't. He hadn't meant to help her.
There was a knock behind her.
Beth went still. Outside, a man's voice said, “Just me.”
Adam said something Nina couldn't make out. The other man replied, pleasantly, “She knows I'm coming.”
Beth shook her head once. Nina moved away from the door.
Owen Pike entered wearing an open jacket over a blue polo. He brought the same unhurried smile he'd offered outside Threadline. Here, Nina thought, was why he'd been there when she came out. He knew her without needing to remember where they'd met.
“Morning, Theo.”
Theo put his hand over the camera.
“We're a little ahead of schedule,” Owen said. “But that's good. We can get moving before the traffic.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” Beth said.
“This isn't the place for you now.”
“I didn't ask for a new place.”
He nodded as if she had agreed. His gaze passed over the bags and settled on the camera. “Bring that, absolutely. Nothing has to be left behind.”
Nina could see Adam outside, a few steps up, one hand on the rail. Owen hadn't closed the door.
“Where are you taking them?” she asked.
“Somewhere better.”
“Where?”
He looked at Beth. “You don't need to discuss this in front of people.”
“She's asking the same thing I am.”
Owen took out his phone and held it toward her. A neat room filled the screen, with a blue couch and a painting of a sailboat. He tipped it toward Theo too.
“Plenty of room. Your own corner. You won't be stuck making things on a bed.”
Theo didn't look.
“Who chose it?” Nina asked.
“It's available.”
“Who chose it for Beth?”
Owen looked at her then, properly. The pleasantness remained in place, but he no longer expected it to work.
“Vivian's trying to help.”
Beth stepped toward the table. She began pushing foil people and the paper tower into a shoebox. Theo made a sharp noise and took the box away.
“You'll wreck it.”
“Then do it yourself.”
“We're not going,” he said.
“I know.”
“Then why are you packing?”
Beth didn't answer. She was putting things within reach. Nina understood it a beat later than her son did.
Owen reached for the bag beside the door.
Beth caught the handle first. “Leave it.”
He didn't let go. For a second it was absurd, two grown people holding a cheap canvas bag, neither moving. Then Owen pulled, and Beth stumbled into the doorframe.
Theo dropped the box.
“Get off her.”
“Nobody's hurting anybody.” Owen's voice grew louder. “Put your shoes on. We're getting you out of here.”
Nina moved between him and Theo. Owen released the bag so suddenly that Beth hit the dresser behind her. Nina heard the drawer handles rattle.
“You,” Owen told Nina. “Outside.”
“She's said no.”
“You don't understand what you're in the middle of.”
Nina's phone was in her coat pocket. She got her hand around it. Owen saw the movement and caught her wrist.
It hurt before she understood he meant it to. She bent toward his hand, trying to take the pressure off, and he pushed her backward. Her hip struck the folding table. The camera fell.
Through the doorway she saw Adam look toward the running car.
Then he came back up the steps.