17Dufort spent the last few hours of the workday walking around the village. He didn’t stop to talk to anyone, but waved when he saw people he knew. He was putting himself in a sort of trance, the same sort of trance he went into when jogging, where the repetitive movement of his body settled his mind and allowed it to roam freely over the details of the Amy Bennett case and everything related to it. He was not judging the information, not trying to be objective, but rather the opposite—to sense the emotions underneath the facts.
But at this point, the facts were minimal. A young woman was gone. Third from this village. No apparent motive for leaving without telling anyone. No romantic entanglements that anyone knew of, and not a person who tended toward the dramatic or impulsive.
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