Dr. Mooney—I mean Xave—do you own a car?” I turned to him before remembering that he had already mentioned that he didn’t. “Well, we’ll have to get one somehow. Or a bus or taxi, if we can catch—” “That’s linear thinking,” Dr. Little cut me off. He still looked pained that he had failed to discover that Sabina had been so close, only four floors down, and angry at himself for having missed something obvious—for the second time in as many days. I guessed that he was worried about looking foolish in front of Xavier Mooney, who would one day have a vote as to whether tenure would be offered to our young professor from California. I doubted Xavier would judge Dr. Little on an incident that had happened thirty-some years in the past and which he had never once mentioned. But it did make me wonder yet again why he’d never said anything about meeting the three of us. “You have a better idea?” I asked Dr. Little as I joined Abigail and him by the window, where he was rolling up his sleeping mat. “Obviously we have to go after her,”
