Page 101 of Over Her Dead Body

“No.”

“Where is it?”

“The last time I saw it, it was in his eye.”

He accepts this with the weary composure of a man who spends his days asking tourists where they last saw things.

The notepad in front of him remains blank.

“There is a man somewhere in Lisbon with a very recent eye injury,” I say. “That should narrow it down.”

“You would be surprised.”

“He drove me away from the city,” I say. “He took my phone and locked me inside the car.”

“But he made no demand.”

“I didn’t give him time.”

“You do not know what he intended.”

“No. I thought it was more important to get out before he showed me.”

The officer looks at my scraped palms.

“The airport attracts opportunistic theft,” he says. “Travelers are tired. They see their name and follow.”

“I am aware of how I got into the car.”

“You travel often?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know the precautions.”

“Yes.”

This is worse than having them explained.

“If you are very concerned,” he says, “perhaps you should take the next flight home.”

I hold up my bandaged hands. “What part of this sounds hypothetical?”

“You have experienced something upsetting.”

“I put a pen through a man’s eye.”

“Yes.”

“And you think I should leave Lisbon?”

“That is your decision. Lisbon is a very safe city.”

“You just told me to go home.”

“I said you could go home if you do not feel safe.”

“A man locked me in a car and drove me toward a warehouse district.”