“Good for you,” I said.

“Gold from seventy-five years ago,” Shipman said. “McKenzie, is that why you searched our files this morning? For gold?”


“You gave McKenzie access to our files?” Bobby said.

“Only from 1930 through 1933,” Shipman said.

“I don’t care if it’s 1733, you don’t show McKenzie our files. You don’t even show him the way to the restroom. In fact, you know what? We’re instituting a new policy. Starting today, McKenzie is no longer allowed in the building unless he’s wearing handcuffs.”

“That’s harsh,” I said.

“It’s because of the files,” Ivy said. “What McKenzie found out—it confirms that Frank Nash brought the gold he stole back to St. Paul, that it’s still here. That’s why Josh was killed, I’m trying to tell you.”

We were all watching her now.

“Ms. Flynn,” Bobby took her elbow and directed her back to the stuffed chair. “Please sit.” She sat, and he squatted next to her and looked up into her face. “Now I need you to tell me everything, starting with what happened here tonight.”

“It’ll take a while.”

“No one is going anywhere,” Bobby said. He was looking directly at me when he said it.

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Ivy gestured toward Shipman. “I already told her about the shooting.”

“I know,” said Bobby. “Let’s talk some more.”

There wasn’t much to it. Ivy and Berglund had dinner in the apartment and then decided to go to the movies. They went to see Johnny Depp at the AMC-14 movie theater in the Rosedale Shopping Mall. “Wait a minute,” Ivy said. She dove into her purse and started pulling out items—her wallet, her checkbook, and a set of keys on a USA key chain. Finally she retrieved two ticket stubs stamped with the name of the theater, the film, and the time of the showing. They corroborated her story. Afterward, she said, she and Berglund returned to the apartment. They parked their car in the lot next to the building. They walked down the hallway to their door. She didn’t remember what they were talking about or even if they were talking. Berglund had his keys in his hand and was about to unlock the door. Suddenly the door flew open. A man, dressed in black, was inside the apartment. He was holding a pistol. He pointed it in Berglund’s face. Berglund stepped backward. He didn’t say a word. Neither did the man. The man squeezed the trigger. The force of the bullet slammed Berglund’s head against the wall and he slumped down. Ivy was petrified, too frightened even to scream. The intruder stepped around her and walked down the corridor toward the exit. “He walked so slowly, and he used the wall for support, like he was sick or something,” Ivy said.

I know the feeling, my inner voice said.

“I called 911,” Ivy said. Then she called me.

“Can you describe the man?” Shipman said.

“He was”—Ivy pointed at me—“about McKenzie’s size.” I wish she hadn’t said that. “A couple of inches shorter, maybe, and very thin.” I felt better. “Other than that—he was wearing a mask. A ski mask, I guess it was.”

“You couldn’t see his face at all?” Shipman said.

“No,” Ivy said.

“He had eye holes?”

“Eye holes?”

“In the mask.”


“You saw his eyes.”

“Not really. I mean, I don’t remember what color they were.”

“The rim of his eyes. Was he white, black—”

“White. I think.”

“You’re sure it was a man?”


“What makes you say that?”

“Because—that’s just the impression I had. I guess I don’t know for sure.”

Shipman took that moment to report to Bobby.

“We canvassed the apartment building,” she said. “No one heard any shots, which isn’t surprising. A single shot, a smaller caliber gun, people hear an odd noise, they listen, they don’t hear it again, they forget about it. No one saw anyone matching the unsub’s description enter or leave the apartment building at any time. The foyer doesn’t have a security camera. We searched the apartment, the apartment building, and the grounds but couldn’t find a weapon. We’re still looking. Since the unsub escaped immediately after firing, we believe he used a wheel gun—we couldn’t find a spent cartridge, and he didn’t have time to pick it up.”

Bobby nodded. “Ms. Flynn, did you get a chance to walk through the apartment?” he said.

Ivy nodded. “We walked through”—she pointed at Shipman—“but we didn’t see anything. I mean, there’s nothing missing that I know of. Josh and I didn’t have much that was valuable except for the computer and TV and stuff, but that all seems to be here. Only …”


“Only Josh’s notes, his research, in his office—it’s a two-bedroom apartment, and we use one of the bedrooms as an office—”

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