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through,’ he said to Shelby. Still clutching her overnight bag, she followed the man through the doorway.
    If she had doubted the urgency of the investigation, the sight of the room she entered was both reassuring and terrifying. The room was abuzz with groups of officers and men dressed in street clothes conferring, clustered at desks, maps, bulletin boards, and lightboxes.
    The lightboxes were devastating. Photos of Chloe in her summery yellow cotton dress had been enlarged and posted. Shelby gasped at the sight of them. They had clearly been taken on board the ship and seemed professional in quality. Chloe’s skin was slightly tanned, her long hair windblown. Shelby covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a cry as she stared at these images of her daughter. Chloe’s companion had been cropped from the photo, and all you could see of Rob was his hand, draped over her shoulder, the wedding ring on his finger.
    ‘Shelby.’
    Shelby jumped at the sound of her own name. She turned and saw her son-in-law.
    His face was ashen under the fluorescent lights, his beard stubbly. His large, light eyes were dull with exhaustion and red with weeping. He set down a paper coffee cup on a nearby desktop.
    ‘Rob,’ she cried out. She asked him the only important question with her eyes, but she knew the answer before he could reply.
    ‘Nothing,’ he said, shaking his head. Suddenly, his chin began to tremble, and his blue eyes filled with tears. ‘I’m sorry.’
    He reached to embrace her, but Shelby drew back and stiffened
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said miserably. ‘I should have been with her.’
    Shelby suddenly found the sight of Rob’s hapless expression infuriating. ‘That doesn’t explain anything,’ she said. ‘How could she have fallen overboard? Rob, people don’t just fall overboard.’
    ‘There was a balcony outside our bedroom,’ he said.
    Shelby recalled the brochures, remembered choosing the nicest cabin for them. She had pictured them eating breakfast on their balcony. Watching the sunset from their private little deck.
    ‘They think she fell from the balcony. They found her sandal on the awning below it,’ he said.
    Shelby felt as if she could not draw in a breath. She knew instantly that the image of that single sandal, flung off in flight, would haunt her days forever.
    ‘You should sit down,’ said Rob.
    A dark-skinned, middle-aged man in a short-sleeved police uniform approached them. ‘Is this your wife’s mother?’ the man asked.
    Rob turned and looked around. ‘Yes,’ he said. He turned back to Shelby. ‘She just arrived. Shelby, this is the Chief of Police here in St Thomas, Chief Giroux. This is my mother-in-law, Shelby Sloan.’
    ‘Please,’ said the policeman. ‘Mrs Sloan, I’d like to speak to you in my office.’
    ‘Shall I come?’ Rob asked.
    ‘No, why don’t you wait out here.’ It was an order, not a question. The police chief guided Shelby by her forearm, as if she were blind. They walked into a spacious, light-filled office where two other men were seated, talking quietly. There were three pots of shiny-leafed, tropical plants on the window sill, and on the walls was an assortment of framed diplomas and citations. The other men stood up as Shelby was led into the room.
    ‘Mrs Sloan, let me present to you Mr Warren DeWitt from the FBI, and Captain Fredericks, the ship’s captain.’
    Captain Fredericks took off his hat and turned it nervously in his hands as he gave her a brief nod. Agent DeWitt extended a hand to her and Shelby shook it. Then she gripped the back of the chair in front of her, feeling suddenly faint.
    ‘Mrs Sloan, please sit down,’ said Chief Giroux.
    Shelby seated herself carefully in the chair he offered.
    Chief Giroux bent down and spoke to her kindly. ‘Can one of my officers get you something to drink? You’ve had a terrible shock and a long trip. Something hot? Tea perhaps? Or a cold drink?’
    ‘No, I’m fine,’ Shelby whispered.
    The