Finn had his head bowed slightly as he walked, as if against the cold. He was certain that Jonas would run again if he recognized him or suspected anything amiss. Finn tensed slightly as he realized Jonas was looking at him, but the kid clearly discounted him as a threat, because he turned back to the apartment block.
By the time Jonas turned a second time, Finn was more relaxed—he was only a few feet away and knew he’d catch him even if he did bolt. Finn raised his head and, noting the kid’s look of alarm, smiled at him as he spoke.
“Hi Jonas, don’t worry, I just want to—”
The kid ran.
Finn set off after him, and almost immediately doubted he’d catch him. Jonas was fast, and apparently determined that this conversation wouldn’t take place. Finn wondered if Jonas hadn’t recognized him, if perhaps he suspected Finn of being connected in some way with Gibson.
Either way, Finn was regretting not having that coffee. He seemed to be lumbering, unable to find a rhythm, in his legs, his breathing, his heartbeat, his footsteps falling heavy on the pavement, jarring through him. Jonas was increasing the distance between them with each of his steps—steps that Finn couldn’t help notice made no sound at all.
He hadn’t wanted to do this, but Finn guessed he would have to ask Ethan and Debbie for the kid’s address, to visit him at home, with all the potential problems that would raise. And just as he was resigned to it, the distance growing to the point of losing sight of him in the dusk, Jonas stopped as suddenly as he’d taken off.
Finn kept running. The kid had reached a junction with another street and was now staring up it at something that had caught his attention. It had really caught his attention, too, because he completely ignored Finn’s approach.
As Finn reached him, he took a glance in the same direction and saw someone on a bike, dressed in proper cycling gear, lights blinking as he disappeared up the street. The kid thought it might be Gibson, that much was clear.
“It’s not him,” Finn said. “He left.”
Jonas turned, as if shocked by his sudden appearance, and looked ready to set off again, but Finn reached out and grabbed his arm, only lightly, but enough of a contact that he knew he’d be able to stop him running. It was just as well—Finn had no more running in him.
“You must remember me? I’m Finn, Hailey’s neighbor from upstairs. Adrienne’s boyfriend.” For the first time in his life, “boyfriend” felt ridiculous, and he half expected Jonas to tell him he was too old to be anyone’s boyfriend.
“Adrienne left.”
Had Finn heard him speak before? For some reason, he’d imagined him talking with a slightly Germanic accent. He was half-Austrian, half-Australian, that’s what they’d told him, but his accent, if anything, sounded vaguely mid-Atlantic.
“Yeah, she did. Everyone seems to be leaving right now. First Adrienne, then Gibson . . .” Jonas looked confused at the mention of the name. “That’s the name of the guy who lived in the apartment next to Hailey. Which brings us to the final disappearance.”
“She didn’t tell me where she was going.”
“I know. Now promise me you won’t run again. I need to talk to you, Jonas, and if you run away from me I’ll just have to come to your house, speak with your parents.”
Jonas laughed. At first Finn thought it was just at the plea for him not to run again, but then he realized it had been the implied threat of involving his parents—this was clearly a kid who didn’t fear such things.
“How do you know she didn’t tell me?”
Finn let go of his arm. “Ethan and Debbie have asked me to help find her. They told me you’d been asked and said you didn’t know, and they said you don’t lie.”
“Everyone lies.” Jonas looked back up the street, but the cyclist had long since disappeared. “Why would they ask you to help find her? Don’t you write books about history?”
“Yes, I do, but—”
“It’s because you used to be a spy. Hailey told me.”
“I didn’t used to be a spy—that’s just what they think, what Adrienne thinks. You know, it’s quite hard to prove that you weren’t a spy.”
“You’re not doing a very good job right now.” Jonas smiled, not needing to spell it out, then appeared to dismiss the subject and move on. “Mr. and Mrs. Portman think I have Asperger’s—I expect they told you that. It’s a pet theory of theirs, and you needn’t deny it, because that’s why they think I don’t lie.”
“Do you? Lie, that is.”
Jonas laughed. “No, but not because of any moral position or intellectual incapacity—I just have very little about which I need to lie. I don’t have Asperger’s, either.”
“I didn’t say you did.”