FROM MOMENT TO MOMENT SHE WILL BE FOUND. They will find her at the spot where she floats, with her fingers spread open on the ripples of the water, her hair spread out like a Japanese fan. Fish glide beneath her, pass between them, and move along her body. The filter hums. The pond stirs, sparkles. And she stirs subtly on the surface. Earlier in the morning, fog spread across the area – that characteristic fog of San Francisco, thick as velvet and icy – but now her last traces disperse, and the garden is bathed in light: the tiles, the sundial, the chorus of daffodils in the courtyard. And the pond, that perfect circle near the house wall, with its sparkling fish and water lilies that resemble stars. Moment by moment, a scream will shatter the silence. Meanwhile, there is absolute calm, perfect stillness, with only the almost imperceptible rippling of water, the sluggish swimming of fish, the lines formed around the corpse.
At the other end of the garden, the balcony door opens, the sun reflects off the glass. A breath. And then that scream. They found her.