There was Julian, at half past four in the morning, slipping into the room safe, lifting out my passport, sliding my phone into his pocket.

There he was handing a folded note to the night receptionist.

There he was hurrying out the door with my sleeping daughter, into the dark, toward the airport shuttle.

Evelyn’s voice choked off in her throat.

Her face went ashen.

“The Thai National Police,” Martin said smoothly, looking her dead in the eye, “have already processed the hotel’s theft report.

And we have a signed affidavit from the resort manager confirming that you, Mrs.