Then, after washing his hands, Felton Noble removed his contact lenses. His eyes were wounded and muddy, no longer dangerous.

He scooped the mess in the sink into his hands, and went to the kitchen. Turning on the water and the garbage disposal, he dumped the cotton, contacts, and towel into the grinder. When he was satisfied with the sounds it made, he pulled a wallet from his pocket. The driver’s license and Social Security card had been purchased from a man; the credit cards belonged to a man who, not coincidentally, had also been named Felton Noble, whose body was now rotting away in the woods off the interstate. Everything went in the disposal with a hideous clatter, then the fake-leather wallet followed.

He went back to the bathroom and put the cold cream in his pocket and turned out the light.

He did one more thing before he left. The man went to Felton Noble’s (the real Felton Noble’s) computer, and opened the screen saver settings. “Marquee,” not the fanciest, but it served his purpose. A message.