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the
confidence of command, unlike the posturing Graham. I gave
them the whole story, or at least as much of it as I thought they
needed to know.
    When Graham started to speak, Gatineau lifted his
hand for silence. "Mr. Sanchez, I'm sure you understand that it
is impossible for you to continue here."
    "I've already told Alexandra that I am leaving. Actually,
I had planned to advise Sabine—Ms. Duveau—today that
prospects for finding Trevor weren't good."
    "Then we're agreed. If you have any personal items in
the office, you should take them with you when you go. To
avoid bookkeeping, and..." He paused and raised his left
eyebrow a hair's breadth. "...legal difficulties, the firm will pay
you a month's salary, but there is no need for you in any way to
pursue your search for Trevor. The police have accepted that
he is missing and are handling the case. Do you agree?"
    "It's more than fair."
    "Ian might have a few questions, if you wouldn't mind
accommodating him. As for me, adieu , M. Sanchez."
When we stood to leave, I noticed a bald spot spreading
forward from the back of his head and an ungainly breadth to
his hips, characteristics, as I recall, that he shared with
Napoleon. Maybe that explained his attitude.
    I didn't mind answering Graham's questions. It was the
accusations that redlined my pulse. He alluded to Sabine's
personal reputation. He came close to suggesting that the firm
might have been funding services other than a missing person
investigation. When I heard the words "nearly embezzlement,"
I stood.
    "That's it," I said.
    "No, I'm afraid it isn't."
    Maybe it was just the act of standing, but my anger
flowed away. Ian Graham was no longer an irritant. He was a
shell filled with cravings for admiration, superiority,
promotion. They overwhelmed everything else about him and
made him small.
    "If you expect your month's salary, sit back down. We
aren't finished."
    I tried to keep my face stoic, but I couldn't. A little
Mona Lisa smile formed of its own will. As a comic, the guy was
good. Even his straight lines were funny.
    "Lucky for you, we are finished." I walked out.
    It wouldn't take long to pack and find a place to stay
other than Sabine's until I could book a flight home. If the firm
paid for a month, I'd come out ahead. If not, I hadn't lost much.
Either way it was good to be going. I figured fate had taken
enough odd turns the past week to last me a while.
    I was wrong.

Chapter 5
    One glance at the man waiting in Sabine's flat told me
it was her husband. I think I might have recognized him, even if
we'd passed in the street. He was around fifty, more than six
feet tall, and trim. He moved with athletic grace, but most
telling were his eyes. They were like hers. I would have
expected to see anger or jealously. Instead, I saw curiosity and
anticipation of something outside my grasp.
    "Mick Sanchez?"
    I nodded.
    "I suppose you know who I am."
    "Mr. Duveau."
    "No, I am—I was—Sabine's husband, but my name is
Geir Oddsson." A smile brushed his face like a distant memory.
"A wise choice, don't you think, to keep her maiden
name."
    "Ms. Duveau thought I should stay here to work. To
avoid questions at the office."
    "Sabine and I had no secrets from each other, at least I
don't think so. It had been that way for years. I won't say it
didn't bother me at first, but she could not deny who she was. I
could accept that or live without her. For me it was an easy
choice. Besides, I took my cue from her and decided that what
was good for the goose was good for the gander. I have no
regrets, but there was no one like Sabine."
    "She said she loved you as passionately as the day you
married."
    Mr. Oddsson's smile was thin. "As did I. You loved her,
didn't you Mr. Sanchez?"
    I drew a breath and held it. That admission somehow
felt like a greater transgression than physical intimacy.
    "You must have, in some fashion," he said.
    "Who could not?"
    "Quite so. Why don't we sit down? Would you like a
drink, Mr. Sanchez? May I