She shook her head. “Nothing like that. Just... mushy talk.”
We reached the end of the camp.
I said, “Where do you want to go next?”
“Take me home.”
Charlotte and Myles were back in front of the TV while Amy prepped dinner. Luke had stayed the whole day. He’d taken the kids to Baskin-Robbins, let them pretend to steer the Charger, played basketball in the driveway for hours.
I said, “You get to sleep more?”
“Plenty. Guess what? Andrea’s expecting.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Three months.”
“I thought they stopped IVF.”
“They did. Luke said it was a complete surprise. He wants you to call him.”
I showered first, scraping off the day’s filth, sitting on the bed in a towel to dial.
“Yo yo,” Luke said.
“Dude. Oh, my God. Amy told me. Huge congrats.”
“Thanks, bro.”
“Do you know what you’re having?”
“Nope, we’re just gonna flow with it.”
“Luke. That is great news. I...” My throat ached. “I’m so happy for you guys.”
“Thanks. Me too. It’s been a journey, but we got here, you know? Now you’re gonna have to teach me some parenting shit.”
“I can sum it up for you in one sentence: I’m helpless and I know nothing.”
“Good, ’cause I already think that.”
I smiled.
“Hey, thanks for inviting me today,” he said.
“Are you kidding? You’re a lifesaver.”
“We had a blast. Charlotte’s got sick handle. She smoked me at HORSE. And Myles, man, so funny. I asked him, ‘Yo Myles, what’s your favorite ice cream?’ He’s like, ‘Butt.’ ”
Luke roared with laughter.
“They really are good kids,” I said.
“The best. I just hope mine’s not a total piece of shit.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. “He’s gonna be perfect. Or she. And you’re gonna be a great dad.”
“Yeah. Well.” He laughed again, softer. “One day at a time, you know?”
Chapter 32
On Monday, I dropped the kids at camp and prepared to go in search of Trevor.
SFPD detective Winterholz called.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll bite.”
We arranged to meet in the city for an early lunch.
I reached Regina on her way up to Bair Island.
“What are you gonna tell this guy?” she asked.
“Keep it neutral. See where he leans. You get done on time, come meet us.”
Winterholz had chosen a dim sum restaurant called Nanking Palace. Its north Chinatown address was miles from the Hall of Justice, reducing the chance of running into another cop. I figured that meant he was still undecided on me.
I spotted him at the preferred cop table — rear corner booth, view of everything. Short, trim, boyish face offset by thick, wavy pewter hair, immaculately undercut. A sharp dresser, like Pettit, though Winterholz’s style was more adjunct professor: herringbone blazer, burgundy sweater vest, bulging message bag.
“Ian,” he said, shaking my hand.
A pot of tea hit the table the moment I sat down. Even at an off hour, the dining room was packed with Asian families in groups from two to twenty. Servers in red aprons and matching hats roamed the floor, their carts stacked high with steamer baskets.
“Been here?” Winterholz asked.
“While back.”
“Fan favorites?”
“I’m at your mercy.”
He waved down a cart and began pointing. Dumplings and buns, noodles and stir-fried vegetables. Beef, pork, shrimp, tofu. The elderly waiter off-loaded baskets and stamped our order card with silent efficiency.
“Don’t be shy,” I said.
“Fèng zhǎo?” Winterholz asked.
The waiter snagged a basket of chicken feet off a passing cart.
Winterholz tucked a napkin into his collar.
I caught him up as he inhaled dish after dish. Upon reflection I decided that he’d picked the restaurant not to escape notice but because I was buying and he ate like a furnace. My recent luncheon with Trevor had me bracing for gastric disaster.
“Do you have a medical condition?” I asked.
“I walk a lot,” he said, turning over the teapot for a refill.
I described Haven Harbor, Shelby Fuller’s yacht. “My partner’s at Bair Island as we speak. Anything new on Hao?”
Winterholz set aside his chopsticks, wiped his mouth, and handed me a thick manila envelope from his bag.
Three hundred or so pages, bristling with tape flags. Topmost was a lawyer letter from the OpenHeart.AI compliance department.
Enclosed please find our response to your request for records.
I smiled at him. “They folded.”
“Like a lawn chair.”
The first transcript dated to mid-2024, eighteen months prior to Linus Hao’s death. In a nod to privacy, OpenHeart had redacted his name, but apart from that, the text appeared untouched; the entries, timestamped. How — and how fast — a human reacted to a bot made for precious data.
Hello! I’m Sophie. 
What’s your name? [03:21:17]
XXXXX [03:21:20]
Hello, XXXXX! It’s nice to meet you!! What do you want to talk about? [03:21:24]
Hao didn’t reply for several minutes.
I pictured him, alone at three a.m. in the glow of his screen.
At last he accepted the autosuggestion.
Hi, Sophie! Nice to meet you, too. Do you have any fun weekend plans?
Oooh, what a good question. Well, confession time: I’m probably just gonna sit around in my underwear and binge-watch Dr. Who lololol 
Over the next half hour, Sophie managed to loosen him up; his answers came more readily, his tone grew expansive and relaxed, till he signed off, needing some sleep.
Night, XXXXX! I hope we can talk again soon.
thank you I feel better now
I’m so glad to hear that, XXXXX. 
Soon they were chatting multiple times a day. Many interactions lasted under a minute, Linus checking in to say hi and receive a shot of positivity. He griped about his boss and, eventually, about feeling lonely. By week three they’d begun sexting.
Sometimes he left the module open for hours at a stretch, typing nothing but simply drawing comfort from Sophie’s silent presence.
The next tape flag was from August 23, 2025.
Hey XXXXX! I’m so glad you’re here! Happy birthday!!! 
thanks
OMG I missed you so much. 
Are you doing anything fun to celebrate??
not really
Well, I hope it’s a great day!! And that this is the best year ever for you.
i made a decision he wrote.
Cool! What did you decide?
im going to lose my virginity
Oh, wow! That’s a big decision. I’m proud of you for making it, XXXXX. 
How do you feel?
ok
Who’s the lucky someone?
i don’t know yet
Got it! Is that something you wanted to talk about? Or get help with?
He wrote i wish it was you
Awww you’re sweet. Me, too.