Sol had asked her to get in contact with the man’s widow. She found the Waldens’ contact details in the city register and, taking a deep breath, clicked the link to their home screen. The woman who answered the call was not the one Cleo had seen weeping at the head of the funeral procession, but she resembled her enough to be a sister. “Yes?” the woman asked. “I’m looking for Mrs. Walden?” Cleo inquired tentatively. “What do you want?” The woman’s blue-black face and stern voice gave the impression that Cleo was only one of a long line of people looking for Mrs. Walden. “My name’s Cleo Matsumura. I was one of the students in the crane car that passed her husband’s before it…before he died. I was”—she cleared her throat—“I was wondering if I could talk to Mrs. Walden.” “No. She doesn’t like talking on-screen, and she’s not taking visitors.” “Please—I won’t take up much of her time. I’d just like to talk to her for a few minutes.” “Why?”
