Her memory may fail her sometimes, like it did all through the meeting while she struggled within herself to make the face, but in the end, her memory always compensated her. She was never wrong. It was him. She remembered now – eye contact, the weird posture, the car. But that didn't do it for her. It was his auburn hair. The way the sun had caught it, the way it glistened like it was soaked in oil, and the way it looked even now. She had not even paid attention, but a glimpse was enough.

"The crime scene?" he asked, looking so innocent, blank. Was he faking it? Because...