“I haven’t seen the bitch in twenty years,” Mrs. Jones reports. “You mean your daughter, Lucia?” “Who else we talkin’ about? You don’t seem too damn good at this, Mr.—what’d you say your name was?” “Shepherd Shaw.” It’s a special name, one she’s heard before, long ago. She should remember it, respond to it, but she doesn’t. “What insurance company you say you investigate for, Mr. Shaw?” The man who isn’t Shepherd Shaw, who is nameless, literally Nameless, tells another lie. “Nifelheim Casualty and Life. It’s owned by Lloyds of London.”
