Miguel Duarte came to Lisbon on a Thursday in March, two weeks after Daniel's birthday.
He hadn't called ahead. He'd texted Clara — still through Clara, still the angled approach — and Clara had called Camila on the Wednesday evening with the voice she used for significant information, which Camila had learned to identify within the first two words.
"He's coming tomorrow," Clara said. "He wants to know if you'll meet him."
She was in the kitchen. Leonardo was in the living room with Daniel and the chess set. She could hear the knock of pieces.
"Does he know where I live?"
"No. I haven't told him anything beyond that you're in Lisbon."
She turned her coffee mug in her hands. "Tell him yes. The café on the corner of Rua do Benformoso. Eleven."
A pause. "Are you going to tell Leonardo?
