“That sounds just like him.”

He left at ten past one, and I washed both cups and stood them in the rack.

The bottom drawer of my desk had been locked when I left the house at eight twenty.

I know because I check it every morning, the way my grandfather checked the back gate before bed.

At four there was a scratch beside the brass keyhole, bright against the tarnish, and the drawer slid open on the first tug.

Nothing was missing.