Julia thinks of this as his middle-of-the-night face. Just a handful of months ago—eight, nine—they had been in bed together. It was the end of summer, the sky still pale in the window above them. He had leaned over and picked up his notebook, like he did every night. But something about that night had touched her. The sugared-almond sky above them. And the way he had reached for it, without even thinking about it, ready to take notes. “All right, number one: this missing woman,” she had said. Sadie. She had shown him a photograph of Sadie she kept on her phone, despite police protocols not
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