I SLOWLY OPEN THE DOOR to the room I saw Richard enter. It turns out to be the library, the walls lined with a mix of old leather-bound and newer hardcover books with dust jackets. There’s a variety of titles, covering everything from history to literature to biography. There’s some fiction, mostly 19th century English works. My eye is drawn to some of the titles, however. Books about murderers, serial killers. They’re alongside other volumes on criminal investigation and forensic science—all authored by Dr. Richard Davenport.
“I thought you might find me in here.” I turn to see Richard standing at the window, his body in silhouette against the daylight streaming through the sheers.
“Oh? Why did you think that?”
“Two reasons. I saw Detective Parr and dear Gladys leave without you. Since
