after all, he was. Fiona couldn’t ever see him without also seeing the kid he’d been, the smart, nervous boy who would rattle off facts about German submarines and spy planes.
The phone was still in Arnaud’s hand, and so she said, “Okay, I’m ready. Next?”
But the next photo showed both Kurt and a tall woman with thick black hair. They were hand in hand, and the woman held a plastic shopping bag. It was not Claire.
She yanked the phone from him, scrolled to the next photo and the next. They were taken in rapid succession, so it looked like a flip-book as the two figures moved down the sidewalk.
“No,” she said. “Fuck.” She was angry at Arnaud, which made no sense. “No.” She felt trapped in the booth, suffocated under the yellow lights and quiet music.
“It’s not her?”
“How does that even remotely look like her?”
“She could have dyed her hair.”
“What, she dyed herself a different nose too? She dyed herself taller?”
“Okay,” he said, “calm down. It’s good, yes? This means she’s not with him anymore.”
She smacked the phone facedown next to the soy sauce, grabbed her purse.
“Where are you going? Order some food, okay? So, we have some more steps to take. We need to plan those out. Here. Drink water.”
She put the glass to her forehead instead of drinking from it, and when the waitress came by Arnaud ordered for her.
“Let me see again,” she said, and Arnaud unlocked his phone, handed it back.
Kurt’s hair was pulled into a bun, his face shaved. He looked maybe half Hosanna. Hard to tell with the woman. Long hair parted down the middle. Fiona couldn’t see, washed out as this woman was by the streetlights, if she had makeup on. She wore a coat, but her legs were cut off by Arnaud’s camera. Fiona studied each shot again, as if clues would be lurking in the background.
Arnaud said, “Does the group have—do you say polygamy?” He pronounced it like a French word.
“Yes. I mean, yes, that’s the word. But they don’t, actually. Thank God.” Was she really thankful? It meant Claire didn’t live in that apartment. That she might not even be in Paris. But wait, no, the video. The video was in Paris, and Kurt was in Paris. So Claire had been in Paris, at least. “If Claire left him,” she said, “she probably left France too. She’s—how does immigration even work? You can’t just stay somewhere, right? If you’re not a citizen?”
Arnaud shrugged. “Plenty of people stay illegally.”
What if, the very day Fiona got here, Claire had decided to show up at her door in Chicago? What if she’d knocked, went away, came back, figured Fiona had moved? What if she’d come by the store, asked around, was told that Fiona was out of the country? Fiona should call a neighbor. She should have left a note for Claire, clearly marked and taped to the front door. But no, she was being ridiculous. Why would Claire choose that exact moment to come home? Fiona hadn’t felt this urgency a month ago; it was only the video that had made everything seem so immediate. She hadn’t left town since Claire went missing, but she’d been gone all day plenty of times, and some nights, when she stayed over at a date’s house or, once, crashed at a downtown hotel for a wedding. And the world hadn’t fallen apart any further than it already had.
Their food had arrived, and Arnaud gestured with chopsticks. “I can—for a little extra money—I can gain entry to the flat. Maybe find some more information.”
“Like, pick the lock?” There was avocado roll in front of her, and she was so hungry she went for it with her fingers.
He laughed. “No, like bribe the landlord.”
“Why not just approach Kurt?”
“Because if he doesn’t cooperate—then we’re through. But if we look around first, then we know more, and we can still talk to him later. This neighborhood, I’m sure we can bribe our way in. It’s not kosher, you understand? This is why the extra money. I’m not trying to rip you off, but for something like this, a little extra. Just one hundred euro.”
“I understand.”
“Plus the cost of the bribe. So one-fifty.”
“Can I come with you?”
Arnaud looked exasperated. He stuck a tuna roll in his mouth.
“Sorry,” she said, “I know, I know, but you don’t even know what to look for. If I’m there, and I see something that used to be Claire’s—I’d recognize it. You wouldn’t.”