Marlinchen Hennessy, it said. She’d added her phone number underneath.

“Is this a Swedish name?” I asked.

“ ‘Marlinchen’ is German,” she said. “Technically, it’s pronounced Mar-leen-chen, but everyone gives it an Americanized pronunciation: Mar-lin-chen.” It had the sound of a speech she’d given many times before. “The last name, Hennessy, is Irish, of course. My brothers all have traditional Celtic names. My twin brother’s name is Aidan.” Her voice dropped a little lower. “He’s the one I’m here about.”

“Tell me about that,” I said. “You said that you filed a report already?”

Marlinchen Hennessy nodded. “I reported Aidan missing in Georgia. That’s where he’s been living for the past five years. He-”

I held up a hand to stop her. “Wait. He lives in Georgia and that’s where he’s missing from, but you want Hennepin County to look into it?”

She nodded quickly. “Aidan’s from here, and has connections here. He could be headed back this way, and I thought that might make it pertinent to you, here in Hennepin County.”

I frowned. “ ‘Headed back this way’? In other words, you think he’s traveling of his own volition?”

“That’s what they think down in Georgia,” Marlinchen said.

“If that’s true,” I said, “then there’s nothing to investigate. Adults are free to move about without checking in with relatives.”

“Aidan’s not 18 yet,” she said quietly.

“But you said he’s your twin,” I said.

“I’m 17,” she said.

I hoped my surprise didn’t show on my face. I’d taken her for 20, 21. “Okay,” I said, thinking, “this raises another issue entirely. What are your parents doing about all this?”

“My mother is dead,” Marlinchen told me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. Then, just as she was about to speak again, I asked, “How long ago?”