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to them,’ said the voice.
    ‘Why not?’
    Zack finished his scan of the restaurant, but didn’t see anyone who stood out. Four people were on cellphones: two women, sitting across from each other at the same table and occasionally exchanging smiles even as they talked to other people; a skinny messenger with long, hairy legs squeezed into skin-tight bicycle shorts; and a grey-haired salesman in an out-dated check jacket who kept dabbing at his forehead with paper napkins.
    Colin leaned across the table, his hand stretching to touch Zack’s arm. ‘Everything OK?’
    Zack nodded, but twisted around in his chair to face away from the two cops.
    ‘You still have something to lose,’ said the voice.
    Zack almost laughed. ‘I have nothing.’
    The line went silent for a moment and then another voice came on.
    ‘Zack, is that you? I can’t find Kalli. He won’t tell me where she is.’
    ‘Jasmine!’ Zack jumped to his feet and walked away from the table. ‘I thought you were—’ His voice caught in his throat and his body began to tremble so badly he could barely stand.
    Once he’d turned the corner to the washroom, out of sight of the cops, he sank to his knees on the dirty floor and grasped the concrete-block wall for support.
    ‘Find her, Zack,’ Jasmine pleaded. ‘Do anything he asks.’
    ‘I am. I will . . . anything.’
    ‘Touching,’ said the electronic voice.
    Zack closed his eyes, not wanting the sound of Jasmine’s voice to leave his head. She sounded so scared, and yet he knew it wasn’t for herself. She was focused on Kalli, their fourteen-year-old daughter who loved to draw horses and still secretly sucked her thumb in her sleep.
    The same daughter who, along with his wife, he believed had been blown to bits before his eyes.
    ‘Don’t hurt her,’ Zack said. ‘I’m begging you.’
    ‘You know what I want.’
    Zack held back a sob. ‘I had most of it. I liquidated everything—’
    ‘Did I ask for most?’
    ‘No, but—’
    ‘Stop snivelling. I can help you fulfil your obligation. Are you interested?’
    ‘Yes,’ Zack agreed instantly. ‘Anything.’
    ‘Here’s what I need you to do . . .’

12
    Officer Dale Ryan escorted Sam to the glass-and-steel lobby of the Portland Justice Center. Located in the heart of the city, the building housed not only the Portland Police Bureau, but also four courtrooms and the 676-bed maximum-security Multnomah County Detention Center. For criminals, that meant they could be booked, tried and locked up without travelling any further than the elevator.
    Ryan signed him in at the reception desk, the relief of having turned over responsibility clear upon his face.
    ‘Good luck, Mr White. I’m sorry for your loss.’
    Sam nodded slowly. The effects of the blue pills had begun to wear off, making him feel tired and defeated. He wasn’t even sure if his voice would still be audible if he opened his mouth to speak.
    A slim, middle-aged Latino woman rose from behind a plastic desk as Ryan retreated.
    ‘Would you follow me, please, Mr White? You’re expected upstairs.’
    The woman flashed him a quick smile – a rapid flexing of cheek muscles delivering minimum friendliness – before unlatching a security gate in the reception desk and inviting him in.
    With his feet on automatic pilot, Sam followed her to a bank of elevators.
    Inside one of the elevators, the woman waited for him to join her, then pushed the button for the thirteenth floor. Before the doors closed, however, she flashed him another false smile and exited without a word. Except for two security cameras with blinking red lights, Sam was left alone in the shiny metal box.
    When the doors opened again, a woman with bright orange lipstick, a massive bosom and a mop of fiercely dyed peroxide-blonde hair gestured for him to come over to where she sat behind another ivory desk.
    Sam didn’t like the look of her or the floor’s stark decor. He decided to stay where he was and closed his