The encounter lasted only a second, and then he turned casually away and disappeared into the next gallery. But I’d seen him. I’d seen myself. My profile. My face. Just like at the river. That was Dylan Moran studying La Grande Jatte and wearing my father’s murder coat. The shock of it left me paralyzed, but he didn’t look surprised to see me at all. It was as if he’d been waiting for that moment, waiting for me to find him.
