Londonderry greeted them with traffic jams. It was always like that when driving from the Cityside to the Waterside across the car bridge. Summer was approaching, tourists were already booking excursions, the number of people in the city was growing significantly, as was the workload for the police.

  O’Halloran let out a heavy sigh and opened his window to let in some air. Angela had fallen asleep in the back seat, hugging her favorite teddy bear. Each time they stopped at a traffic light, Shane turned around to look at her peaceful face, young and tender, again and again convincing himself that a person can endure anything in any conditions. One only needs a single desire: to live.

  Once in the Waterside, Shane stopped at a bakery to buy pastries for the girl, assuming that when she woke up she would be hungry. He only had Molly’s pie in a container. Naturally, he quietly closed the car door and locked it so that Angela would not be able to run away. Waking up frightened was always a possibility. Shane had thought of everything.

  In the shop, he called O’Keefe.

  “Faye, sorry for ending the call so abruptly.”

  “It’s all right, boss. Anita and I are heading to Coleraine to question the neighbors. Now about Angela. The journalists are about to catch wind of this, we need to hurry with the investigation and not scare anyone off.”

  “Good, Faye. I have no doubts about you, Sergeant. Put the report on my desk in the morning. I will not be coming to the station today.”

  “Is everything all right, boss? Your voice sounds a bit… unwell.”

  “I’m fine.” Shane looked through the bakery window at the car. “Unexpected difficulties. But I will try to resolve them by evening.”

  How, he wondered.

  “Faye, since you are going to Coleraine, stop by the local school first.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  Shane loved his team. Always efficient, always reasonable in their approach. He valued their professionalism and their respect for him as their senior. Gallagher in particular never caused concern. Evan would cover for him for a couple of days. They had been partners for a reason. Closer to evening Shane would call him. Not now.

  Right now he had to decide what to do with Angela.

  Risking his job, he drove her to his home. If his superiors found out, there would be trouble. So he had to make sure that not a single living soul learned that he had taken the girl from the basement to live with him. Good God. He had lived to see this. Nearly forty years old and committing utter foolishness.

  And yet Angela crossed the threshold of his apartment.

  “This… is my basement,” Shane said kindly and smiled.

  Angela looked at him in surprise, then smiled too and gave him a light push. She shook her head.

  “No? Not a basement?”

  She turned her head from side to side.

  Laughing, Shane invited her into the kitchen.

  His apartment was a kind of art in itself. His father had once bought it for him. Large, spacious, three rooms, but without renovation. Over time Shane had turned it into a gem. He had removed the partitions in the entrance area, creating a kitchen living room. At the same time he had partially hidden the kitchen in a niche so the cabinets would not look bulky. He had shifted the doorways in the rooms slightly, and in the bedroom he had arranged a walk in wardrobe. He was a man, but not one of those who owned only a couple of suits and some underwear like Evan. No, Shane had an entire collection of formal suits, separate trousers, shirts and jackets, several pairs of shoes, a wagonload of underwear and undershirts. In one of the drawers he kept various sunglasses.

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  The walls were painted in neutral shades of gray because Shane loved art, and such walls were perfect for displaying paintings or art objects. Laminate flooring covered the floor. And no carpets. He disliked vacuum cleaners.

  In the living room there was a storage system with a combination of open and closed cabinets. In the central section hung a large television, which he turned on only when he needed to review news about their case. Otherwise it was a useless black zombie box.

  He had ordered the cabinet furniture custom made, and the sideboard shelving unit in the bedroom opposite the bed had come to him after the sale of a private house whose owner had sold items through acquaintances. The sideboard was from Germany, from the nineteen sixties.

  Shane loved his apartment and cherished every item in it.

  And now an unusual girl had appeared in his home. It was new for the inspector, accustomed to solitude. What she would do in this house he could not imagine. Another concern was that his apartment was not a cottage in Coleraine. It was on the fifth floor. That was high, and Angela had hardly ever been that high before. The fact that she had agreed to enter the elevator reassured him, though that was thanks to the hospital where she had been kept for some time.

  He turned on the kettle and began taking the purchased pastries out of the bag, along with Molly’s pie.

  “You must be hungry, am I right?”

  She paid him no attention and looked around at everything.

  “I have a room. There is a sofa there, but you should be comfortable on it. No one has ever lived in that room. I… did not use it. Would you like to see?”

  She gladly agreed.

  This room was darker than the others, but there were more paintings here. Shane unfolded the sofa and said that it would be her bed, then pointed to an armchair.

  “And Toby can sleep here. We will find him bedding too.”

  Angela was delighted. He drew the curtains, creating an atmosphere she was used to. There was no staircase in his apartment, nowhere to hide. She would have to get used to this room.

  Suddenly he caught himself thinking that he had already accepted the fact that her stay here was not temporary. That should not be.

  “Shall we eat?”

  While he poured tea, Angela did not sit still. She found plates and laid out the buns on them. She took out the pie as well and carefully divided it into slices. Molly had taught her a lot over these weeks.

  They sat at the table, but Shane did not start eating right away. He looked at her for a long time.

  “You are not afraid of me at all?” he asked, wanting to talk. How bad it was when a person could not connect two words.

  She shook her head to show she was not afraid.

  “And who are you afraid of?”

  “Who,” she repeated.

  “Yes. Who or what frightened you? Why did you hide?”

  She raised her head and stared at Shane. Then she noticed the bowl of colorful candies, took them and poured them onto the table. Shane watched her in confusion but did not interfere. When she finished, she stepped aside, allowing the inspector to stand in her place.

  From blue and pink candies she had laid out a word: HE.

  “He? A man frightened you?”

  A nod.

  “Mr. Clive Daniel?” Shane asked uncertainly.

  She shook her head no.

  “Molly’s son?” Shane ventured.

  He had guessed right. Angela became agitated, ran to the refrigerator and pressed her back against it. She beckoned Shane with her hand and arranged him into a pose. The same one in which Joshua had stood. Vulgar.

  She mooed and twisted her face, but Shane understood poorly. Indignation flared inside him. And then she hissed like a real cat. He did not breathe for a full minute.

  Angela was desperate. She wanted very much to tell him, but the words seemed stuck, unwilling to come out. Suddenly she noticed the notebook in the inner pocket of Shane’s jacket, pulled it out before he could react, opened to a blank page and held out her hand to him, demanding a pencil. He took a ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket.

  Angela began to draw. First a woman, a heart above her. She loved Molly, there was no doubt about that. Then she drew a man and depicted him as angry. Above his head she wrote a word in very crooked, clumsy letters, but eloquent: SHIT.

  Shane could not help smiling.

  “I see,” he said, still smiling. “Joshua decided to do something to you? Did he speak badly to you?”

  “Yes. Yes,” she nodded.

  “I will punish him, all right?” She nodded, and he grew more serious. “Angela, you can write. Write your name. Help me find your family.”

  She thought for a moment, then sat at the table and carefully wrote something in the notebook for a long time. Shane read: SHE IS NOT.

  “What is not? There is no family?”

  A nod.

  “Shane, I… yes.”

  He did not understand anything. And perhaps their conversation would have gone much further, but the doorbell rang and Shane went to open it. Evan Gallagher burst into the apartment without even waiting for an invitation.

  “Truant. Lazybones. I am looking for him, and he is sitting at home. What is a phone for? I call and call, and…” He stopped, looking under the table. “What is that?”

  Shane remained calm.

  “Angela, this is a friend,” he said gently. “Evan. My partner. You have seen him many times. Come out from under the table. Gallagher, you frightened her with your shouting. What kind of person are you?”

  But Evan cared little about that. He looked from Angela to Shane and then forced out:

  “O’Halloran, have you lost your mind?”