Chapter 7: The Photographs
Frank's office was small and deliberately unremarkable — the kind of place designed not to be remembered.
He met me at the door and led me to a table with two chairs and a closed manila folder between them.
He sat across from me.
"Before I open this, I want to ask you directly.
Are you sure you want to see these today?
Some people prefer to wait until they've decided what they want to do next."
"Open it," I said.
He did.
There were eleven photographs.
Printed clearly, timestamped, taken from a distance that made them unobtrusive but close enough that every face was identifiable.
Brad and a woman I didn't know, leaving a restaurant I'd never been to.
Brad holding a door open for her, his hand briefly at the small of her back.
The two of them at a table by a window, leaning toward each other.
Her hand on the table, close to his.
The last photograph was taken in the parking garage Diane had mentioned.
They were standing beside Brad's car.
He had his hand on her arm.
She was looking up at him.
He was smiling.
I had not seen that smile in a long time.
I looked at all eleven photographs in order.
Then I closed the folder.
"How long?" I said.
"Based on what I observed and the pattern of behavior, I'd estimate this has been ongoing for at least six months," Frank said.
"Possibly longer.
They're comfortable with each other.
Not careful."
"Are they—" I stopped.
Restarted.
"Is it physical?"
"I can't confirm that from observation alone.
But the behavior is consistent with an established relationship, not a new one."
I nodded.
"What would you like me to do next?" Frank asked.
"Keep going," I said.
"Two more weeks.
I want a complete picture before I do anything."
"Understood."
I drove home.
Brad's car was in the driveway — he had come home early for once.
I sat in my own car for a moment, the folder on the passenger seat.
Then I put it in my bag, went inside, and started making dinner.
Brad was in the living room.
He called out, "Hey, you were out late."
"I had some things to take care of," I said.
"Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine," I said.
I chopped vegetables with steady hands.
The folder sat in my bag by the door.
I thought about Evelyn, my old mentor, and the bistro in Portland with the line out the door.
I thought about the food truck sitting in a seller's lot, waiting for me to schedule the inspection.
I thought about nineteen years of birthdays remembered and one birthday forgotten.
Then I thought about what came next.
Not the confrontation.
Not yet.
First, I needed one more thing.
I needed Brad to say her name to me himself.
May you like
Without knowing that I already knew everything.
So that when the moment came, there would be nothing left for him to deny.
