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Grounds and general maintenance. Room, board, and a competitive wage. Discretion a condition of employment.

The reply comes from an account with no name, just a residential address with a date and time for an interview.

“That’s the Renard estate,” Marthe says, reading over my shoulder.

He wasn’t snatched after a drunken night out. He applied. Drove himself to Constantin’s house.

“It’s not Dominic,” I say. “He’s the bait.”

Luca looks up. “The what?”

“See where the car’s parked. Dominic has no idea it’s there.” I flick through the photos again. “Angelo’s the one deciding which fish are worth keeping.”

“Nick thinks it’s Dominic.” My voice sounds distant. “He’s gone after the wrong person.”

I call Nick. It rings out and goes to voicemail. I try again. Same.

Luca’s dialing Anna and shaking his head.

“Okay.” Marthe grabs her coat off the hook. “Luca, get the truck.”

He sweeps Nick’s keys from the table, and I have about half a second to think this all the way through.

“Wait,” I say.

Marthe stops with one arm in her coat.

“We don’t know where they went, and we don’t have time to search.” My hands are shaking, and I plant them on the table.

“We’ll start at Dominic’s house, look for them there,” Luca says.

“And if they’re not? We’ll be running in circles. Nick’s hunting for the wrong Renard. Constantin has the pull to sway this any way he likes. And Nick has loose evidence gathered by an outsider who ended up in the middle of this after he broke the rules.”

“Ellery—”

“They’ll take him apart, Marthe.” My voice cracks, but I keep going. “Constantin wants him gone. Nick’s already under scrutiny. We have to protect him.”

She nods once.

“We put it on the record. Before Nick does something he can’t justify after the fact. So whatever happens out there, it happened after the council knew.”

We meet Roslyn at the paper. She reads through my folder standing in the doorway with her coat on and her keys in her hand. Then goes through the photos on my phone with her glasses perched on the end of her nose. And doesn’t ask me a single question.

She goes to her desk, picks up the phone, and dials. “Emergency session.” She presses the handset closer to her ear. “No, Hazel. Now. Everyone.”

She hangs up and turns to me.

“You understand that if you’re wrong, they won’t merely disbelieve you.” She hooks her purse into the crook of her elbow. “They’ll bring your review forward, and it will not go your way.”

“I know.”

“And you’re doing it anyway.”

“I am.”

If they decide against me, I won’t remember deciding this either.

Roslyn buttons her coat. “Don’t cry in front of Sigrid. She can’t handle criers.”