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I've ever encountered, a driven man, and though he was wildly enthusiastic about everything, he actually took no pleasure in any of it, no joy, because there simply wasn't time for joy.'
     'Sounds like it would've been exhausting to be married to him,' Haldane said.
     'God, yes! Within a couple of years his excitement about things was no longer contagious because it was continuous and universal, and no sane person can live at a fever pitch all the time. He ceased to be intriguing and invigorating. He was ... tiring. Maddening. Never a moment's relaxation or peace. By then, I was getting my degree in psychiatry, going through analysis, which is a requirement for anyone considering psychiatric practice, and finally I realized Dylan was a disturbed man, not just enthusiastic, not just an overachiever, but a severe obsessive-compulsive. I tried to convince him to undergo analysis, but for that he had no enthusiasm at all. At last, I told him I wanted a divorce. He never gave me time to file the papers. The next day he cleaned out our joint bank accounts and left with Melanie. I should have seen it coming.'
     'Why?'
     'He was as obsessive about Melanie as he was about everything else. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful, wonderful, intelligent child who ever walked the earth, and he was always concerned that she be perfectly dressed, perfectly groomed, perfectly behaved. She was only three years old, but he was already teaching her to read, trying to teach her French. Only three. He said all learning comes easiest to the youngest. Which is true. But he wasn't doing it for Melanie. Oh, no. Not in the least for her. He was concerned about himself, about having a perfect child, because he couldn't bear the thought that his little girl would be anything but the very prettiest and brightest and most dazzling child anyone had ever seen.'
     They were silent.
     Rain tapped the window, drummed on the roof, gurgled through the gutters and downspouts.
     At last, softly, Haldane said, 'A man like that might ...'
     'Might experiment on his own daughter, might put her through tortures of one kind and another, if he thought he was improving her. Or if he became obsessed with a series of experiments that required a child as the subject.'
     'Jesus,' Haldane said in a tone that was part disgust, part shock, part pity.
     To her surprise, Laura began to cry.
     The detective came to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat beside her.
     She blotted her eyes with a Kleenex.
     He put a hand on her shoulder. 'It'll be all right.'
     She nodded, blew her nose.
     'We'll find her,' he said.
     'I'm afraid we won't.'
     'We will.'
     'I'm afraid she's dead.'
     'She's not.'
     'I'm afraid.'
     'Don't be.'
     'Can't help it.'
     'I know.'
    * * *
    For half an hour, while Lieutenant Haldane attended to business elsewhere in the house, Laura studied Dylan's handwritten journal, which was actually just a log detailing how Melanie's days had been spent. By the time the detective returned to the kitchen, Laura was numb with horror.
     'It's true,' she said. 'They've been here at least five and a half years, as long as he's been keeping this journal, and Melanie hasn't been out of the house once that I can see.'
     'And she slept every night in the sensory-deprivation chamber, like I thought?'
     'Yes. In the beginning, eight hours a night. Then eight and a half. Then nine. By the end of the first year, she was spending ten hours a night in the chamber and two hours every afternoon.'
     She closed the book. The sight of Dylan's neat handwriting suddenly made her furious.
     'What else?' Haldane asked.
     'First thing in the morning, she spent an hour meditating.'
     'Meditating? A little girl like that? She wouldn't even know the meaning of