The familiar smell of paper and damp coats nearly undid me.

The young assistant at the desk asked whether I was enjoying retirement.

“Some days more than others,” I said.

We chose a terminal away from the children’s shelves.

Frank let me use the mouse.

He had asked around and found the footage, but it was still my home we were looking at.

The picture showed a wet alley, the dark wooden steps at the back of our building, and the corner of Miller’s garage.

At a little after seven on Saturday morning, a silver sedan backed into view.