When I reached the moment Vincent’s hands began to shake, I had to stop.

“Take your time,” she said.

I described the untouched food, the strained breathing, Dennis’s grip on my arm, and the bodyguard who had mistaken help for an attack.

Then I mentioned the man wearing the charcoal coat.

“Did you see his face?”

“Only from the side.

Dark hair, maybe in his forties.

He walked as if he knew where he was going.”