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“Andrei,” I say.

He looks at my screen. “These were taken inside the car.”

“Rick said the investigator looked through the window.” I turn toward Rick. “How did he get these?”

Rick comes closer but stops when Andrei turns his head. “I haven’t seen every photograph he took. Perhaps the car was unlocked.”

“You told us he saw an envelope through the glass,” Andrei says.

“That’s what he told me.”

I enlarge the picture of the bag. A corner of blue fabric shows beneath a gray sweater. I know that blue. Connor bought the shirt years ago for a work event, then complained that the collar scratched his neck. Three months ago, he put it in a donation bag while I helped him clear his closet.

“Connor gave that away,” I murmur.

Andrei bends to see the screen. “Which item?”

“The blue shirt. It has a white stripe along the inside of the collar and a missing button at the wrist. He donated it when I was at his apartment in June.” I look at Rick. “Who packed it in his car?”

“I don’t know,” Rick says. His expression is rigid. “You’re identifying a shirt from a corner in a photograph.”

“I remember putting it in the bag.” I raise the phone so he can see it. “He hated that collar. He wouldn’t pack it for a trip.”

Andrei’s hand rests on my lower back. “The police can check the shirt,” he says to Rick. “They can also ask your investigator when he opened the car.”

Rick purses his lips. “I encourage them to examine everything. I never said Connor’s departure was certain.”

“No,” I snap. “You made sure I heard about the cash and the packed bag, then let me reach that conclusion.”

Rick stares at me for a moment, but he offers no answer I want. He says he needs to speak to the bank’s counsel and walks away. I watch him reach the end of the hall without once looking back.

Linda touches my arm. “I’m glad you saw the office before they finished. I’ll make sure the boxes stay together.”

“Please don’t put yourself at risk,” I tell her.

“I work here, Cassie. Connor does too.” She looks into his office. “I want to know what happened to him.”

We leave the floor after Andrei photographs the work order number on the box. In the elevator, he sends the car photographs to the detective handling Connor’s case, along with a brief account of the shirt. The doors open onto the lobby before I finish dialing the detective’s number. Andrei guides me to a quiet corner near the side exit, where the detective answers. He says officers have been sent to examine the car and asks me to describe the shirt without referring to the photograph. I tell him about the collar, the button, and the donation bag Connor carried out of his apartment.

When the call ends, I lower the phone. Andrei stands beside me, his expression still hard from the hallway.

“Do you think he left on his own now?” I ask.

“I think someone put clothes he no longer owned in his car.” He turns to face me. “We need to find out who had access to it.”

It isn’t an apology for what he said this morning. I don’t need one yet. He listened when I recognized the shirt, and he acted on it.

I walk beside him toward the side exit, aware of Cole waiting near the garage and Linda upstairs with Connor’s half-empty office. I want to go home and open Grandma’s book. I want to go back and demand that Rick tell me what he knows. My phone vibrates before I reach the doors.

The message is from Connor.

For one breath I can’t move. I open it and find a photograph of Andrei and me arriving at the bank today, taken from somewhere across the street. Beneath the image are two words.

STOP LOOKING.

“Andrei.” My voice comes out thin. I hold up the phone.

He reads the message, then takes my elbow and guides me back from the glass doors. He calls Cole while I look across the street. People wait beneath a coffee shop awning. A bus pulls away from the curb, and I can’t tell whether the person who took the photograph is still there.