Chapter 5

But all that is ancient history.
Well, maybe not ancient. But history. A year can seem ancient, but I suppose it really isn’t. Especially since I still have the track marks on my arms. I suppose that, until they go away, everything is closer to current events than history.
Now, if you can believe it, I’m a private investigator. It seemed a natural thing to do.
The office was perfect, simple, but cluttered. Bottle of Jack Daniels in the filing cabinet, and a window placed perfectly for dramatic lighting. The rubber duck on my desk.
All we needed now were cases.
We’d had a few, but not as many as I’d have liked.
“Martin, we’ve got someone coming in an hour,” Megan yelled from out front. She hated the intercom.
I felt badly about stealing Megan away from Dennis, but I really needed the instant revenue her other ventures could generate. Plus, I was beginning to think she liked me. At least more than she liked Dennis.
“Excellent. Get Andrew in here too. I like having him around for the first interviews.”
“Sure things, Boss.”
Yeah, I still had him around. Besides being my best friend, he was also very efficient and could be surprisingly intimidating when needed. And, of course, I owed him what sanity I still had. He’d found the man who could teach me the meditative techniques I needed to block out all the peripheral data coming at me. All the noise.
I needed to get into the right mindset for the interview. I dimmed the lights just a bit, leaned back in my chair and let my thoughts swim around me. All the information that still screamed at me from, well, just about everything in the outside world swirled around and around in my head. I visualized it all like a huge chaotic wind. I guided it, shaped its movements into a circle, like a cyclone I could control. There, at the center of the cyclone, where it was calm, I placed myself. There I could catch half-glimpses, hear tiny fragments, but nothing could really get to me. I couldn’t even pick out just what I wanted. To do that might disrupt the flow and have it come crashing down on me. The last time that happened, I spent 2 days almost catatonic.
But I had been taught very well how to keep myself safe, and, more, how to access the information a little indirectly.
The phone rang.
“Yes, Andrew?” It was almost always Andrew on my phone, unless it came through the front desk.
“You need me?”
“Yes, ya big lummox,” I was trying to improve my noir-speak, “in about an hour or so. New client. First interview.”
“About?”
“Dunno. I felt like going in a bit blind. Actually, I’m not sure I did. Megan is sending me in blind. But I go with it.”
“Are you becoming a Taoist now?”
“No. Maybe. Would I know if I was?”
“Probably not. Not if you were doing it right.”
“Then lets assume I am, or, lets assume I’m not. Let’s assume I need you here in 30 minutes.”
“Done.”
I went back to my meditation only to be brought out of it 15 minutes later by Andrew. He was wearing a long black duster and a fedora, if you can believe it. I was happy to see how into this he’d gotten. We didn’t speak as he wandered the room, looking for the best place to stand for the most effect. We’d found that giving off an image that spoke a little of danger worked very well. And Andrew had spent several months on an exercise binge to bulk up. He’d ended up being pretty intimidating. And that was problematic. We wanted to exude strength and competance, but not make the client feel threatened, hence his need to find the right location.
He ended up in the back corner, face semi-illuminated.
“You done now?”
“Yes, this will do.”
“You sure? You look pretty shady back there.”
“Indeed. But given the unknown nature of the client, it seemed that a bit more presence might be a good idea.”
“Nice. I appreciate it. But that brings up a point. What if some dame came in here and pulled a gun on me.”
“I’d miss you very much.”
“Thanks.”
“I did point out the new Kevlar vests you can get on the internet.”
“For me or for you?”
“Two-for-one deal.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
This was, of course, mostly a joke. We’d had a gun pulled on us once, by a junkie who was significantly more likely to shoot himself in the foot than do damage to any of us. However, it had woken up a level of concern we’d previously avoided thinking about.
“You know, Martin, it’s entirely possible that we are starting to make enemies.”
“It’s also entirely possible that you are starting to get into character. Or, even more, that you simply want a present.”
“Indeed.”
“Have I mentioned I hate waiting?”
“I would have thought that the meditation would have helped with that.”
“It has and it does. But it’s still an issue.”
“That is a good thing. It shows there’s still room to grow.”
“And you were worried I was going to end up perfect, suddenly?”
“It kept me up nights.”
“Thanks for worrying.”
“That’s my job.”
We waited.
The door opened and Megan, her hair up perfectly, wearing a long, grey skirt, white blouse, and pumps that made my calves hurt, stood next to a woman I could only assume was our prospective client.
I am amazingly perceptive.
“Ms. Andrea Beaumont, may I introduce Martin Alexander.”
Ms. Beaumont moved gracefully into the room, her ultra-fashionable black slacks making the softest of wisking sounds as she did. Her black, cashmere sweater hugged her body like the tires of a high-performance car gripping the turns on the Pacific Coast Highway.
Yes. I was definitely ‘in character’.
I took her hand in greeting.
“Ms. Beaumont, this is my associate Andrew Sloan. How can we help you?”
As she sat down, eyes flickering over the office, taking in everything she could in the slightly dim lighting, I reached inside the file cabinet and pulled out the whiskey and two glasses.
“Mr. Alexander, its 10:30 in the morning.”
“Yes, Ms. Beaumont. It is.”
I filled my glass halfway.
“I will drink alone if I must.”
Her laquered fingernail tapped the rim of her glass and I filled it.
We both took a drink. Her auburn hair tickled her chin as she did.
Andrew waited.
There was a silence.
“Mr. Alexander, I need you to find my husband.”
“We can do that. How long has he been gone?”
“Two weeks. The police, of course, have been useless.”
“Ms. Beaumont, let me be blunt. It’s been my experience that, when the police can’t find a man, he’s either dead or doesn’t want to be found.”
Actually, that hadn’t been my experience at all. I hadn’t had much ‘missing persons’ experience, but it seemed reasonable.
“Be that as it may. If he’s dead, I want the insurance. If he’s not, I want to know why he’s hiding. You don’t have to bring him back if he’s alive. Just where I can find him.”
“I assume you’ve given all the documentation you have to my secretary?”
“Yes.”
“And she’s explained our fees and payment structures?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now tell me about your husband.”
“We aren’t rich, but we do just fine. My husband works in finance and has had his ups and downs. Before he left, he was complaining about work a great deal. How he seemed to be in endless meetings, how every deal seemed to be falling through, how he kept missing out on the ‘big money’.”
“Was that his thing? The ‘big money’?”
“Yes. He always wanted that huge windfall, that thing that would push him to the top. It wasn’t about being rich, it wasn’t about having money, per se. It was about the success and prestige.”
“Sounds like he’s still stuck in 1987.”
“Mr. Alexander, while the criminal element of the 80s may have gone away, the ruthlessness and drive have not. And those are two characteristics my husband possessed plenty of. Unfortunately, luck came in a distant third.”
“And intelligence?”
“Brains? He was no genius, but no idiot either. In the end, he got where and what he got through being tenacious and cold.”
I glanced back at Andrew. He nodded slightly.
“Well, Ms. Beaumont, we’d be happy to have your business.”
She reached for the bottle and filled her glass almost to the rim.
“Thank you, Mr. Alexander.”
In one slow, almost lingering drink, she downed it entirely. She rose silently and left, her pumps clicking ever so slightly along the hardwood floors. But before closing the door, she half turned and said, “Nice rubber duck.”
“My kind of girl,” I said after she had left.
Andrew raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry. My kind of broad? Dame?”
“I suppose that remains to be seen. Please hold off on making an ass out of yourself until after we are completely paid.”
“Deal.”
Megan came in.
“Very nice with the whiskey. Very ‘hard boiled’.”
“Thanks. Loving this, aren’t you?”
“Very! Shall I assume we have a new client?”
“Yup. She left you a dossier?”
“Yeah, a few papers and pictures and a CD with tons of legal and work documents. It’ll take me a while to go through it all.”
“OK, make three copies of all the documents and the disc. Put one set in the safe and give Andrew and me the others so we all can get started on it.”
“Sure. I should have a profile worked up on him by tomorrow morning.”
“Great.”
“And then?”
“Then I do what I do.”

*
We met in the morning. I had spent the night watching TV, and letting my eyes wander randomly over the various papers and files we’d gotten. I was just letting it all sort of sink in as it felt like, coupled with all the crap on the tube. It was sort of like getting fed intravenously. Plus, it was the only safe way for me to eat, as it were.
Megan had finished her profile. Thank god SOMEONE here knew something about business.
“So Mr. Michael Beaumont was pretty decent at his job. He made his firm a reasonable amount of money, and earned a pretty reasonable amount himself. I cross referenced the work he was doing with general business trends as well as how other financial investment companies were doing, what they were buying and selling, and who was moving up the ladders. It looks like Michael was making the ‘easy scores’, bringing home the bacon and all, but he kept missing the big ones. I don’t know enough about how all this works, but judging from what other guys with his experience and position were doing, Mike was really dropping the ball. He was missing out on a lot of hits he should have been making. But he was working hard, and bringing in enough predictable money that he kept his head above water. My guess, though, was that he’d be fired within the next year.”
“Had he ever gotten the big score?” I asked.
“Not really. Which is also unusual. Most guys in his spot had bagged at least a couple big scores. His wife was right. He’d gotten there by being tenacious. Like a pit bull, I’d say. However, given his recent behavior, and the drop in his ability to even hit the ones everyone else was, I’d say he was distracted, had something going on outside of his actual work.”
“An affair?” I hazard a guess.
“I can’t say from this. Maybe. Ms. Beaumont didn’t have him followed or anything, so we don’t have any evidence of a sexual liason. But something was obviously keeping him off his game.”
“Drugs. Or maybe some sort of side-project.”
“That’s what I was thinking, Andrew. Probably not drugs. His company tests. If it was drugs, it would be something new. Something invisible to current testing procedures.”
“And if it was that, well, that could also be his side-project. A drug that couldn’t be detected, well, that would be money.”
“Money, and danger. Both of which could cause him to no longer be in the vicinity of his wife.”
“Dead from a deal gone wrong, or far too rich from a deal gone right to want to share.”
“Exactly.”
At this point, I felt the need to break in. These two were running away.
“Guys. Yes. This sounds like the seeds of a theory, but it posits objects not in evidence.”
They were both silent for a moment.
“Hey, I’ve been reading up on Occam’s Razor. Anyhow, all we really know is that he’s gone now, and there appears to have been something keeping him distracted from his normal work.”
“You don’t trust my analysis?”
“OK, yes, there was something keeping him distracted. It seems to me that the next step will be to find out what that something was.”
They both nodded in agreement.
“Then you two are on interview patrol. You know the drill. Go talk to anyone who seems interesting first. Then the boring people. And Andrew, try not to intimidate anyone more than necessary. The last lawsuit was really a bitch.”
“I thought it was part of my job. And the insurance covered it.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to fill out all those forms which, I might add, were written in something closer to Sanskrit than English.”
“I’d like to point out that you didn’t fill them out either, I did,” Megan interjected.
“Yes, but I was with you in spirit. I felt your pain.”
“Pain can be arranged,” she winked.
They both left, presumably to do what I told them, but who knew.

Here’s where things get dangerous.
I still had my increased perceptions, I was just able to keep them at bay with some concentration and meditation exercises. The problem was accessing them without going banana-wacky. I’d spent enough time drooling on myself for one lifetime.
The only way to do this was indirectly. We, my guru and I, had come up with a number of methods, but all of them broke down to complex, somewhat guided, Rorschach tests. We used things like the Tarot, and other fortune telling devices. I could have waited until I got more information from Andrew and Megan, but doing this early on was a good idea. It kept my ‘reading’ more open, and also more focused. Too much information might lead me somewhere interesting, but still not where I wanted to be. And, doing it early just kept us on track instead of wandering off in random directions.
Given how early on we were in all this, and the nature of the client and investigation, the I-Ching seemed to be a logical choice.
I lit a cigarette to go with the whiskey.
Letting the smoke waft from my lungs and lips got, I watched it swirl and found myself seeing patterns forming, hints of faces, half-landscapes. I was getting myself into a mental place where this thing I do could work.
And that’s the only name I could give to it. ‘This thing I do’. I still didn’t really understand it. No one did. None of the shrinks in the hospital. None of the shrinks before the hospital, for that matter. And, of course, it wasn’t like any of them believed me. They mostly assumed I was ‘fucked up’. While that’s not a very technical diagnosis, its pretty accurate when dealing with terms like ‘paranoid schizophrenic’. If it hadn’t been for Andrew finding my meditation guru, I’d have stayed in that damn room wearing my favorite jacket.
But he did. And slowly the maelstrom in my head got easier to deal with. Actually, it wasn’t even that bad when I was locked up. But put me in the rec room with the others and, well, it was overpowering. I mean, you think that normal people give off a lot of tells with their body language and such? You ain’t seen nothing until you’ve been around the stark-raving-mad. It was like I was watching everything that had ever caused anyone to completely snap. It was like the worst, most painful avant-guarde film in history. And I didn’t even have any popcorn. And if I did, I wouldn’t have been able to get any into my mouth, unless it was a feed-bag. Usually, I’d start crying, then screaming, then other ‘guests’ would start crying and screaming and then its thorazine Big-Gulps all around!
Eventually, though, I learned to see the input as wind. Then to turn into it, like a boat and let it just gust around me, which was disturbing, but much better then how it was before, buffetting me every which way. And then I was able to guide it, cause it to blow around me instead, like some sort of strange tornado of words and images. And then, finally, I learned to create a safe place in the eye. Where it was calm and I could rest. And then, after a few more months of observation and more medication than I’d like to admit, I was able to go home.
And then there’s the rubber duck.
Its become something of a spirit guide for me. When I talked with my guru about my dreams, he took to it instantly. Now it sometimes helps me focus, keeping the noise out, or letting it in as I need it. Mostly I just feel better having it around.
And no. I don’t take baths with it.
Usually.
The I-Ching is The Book Of Changes. It guides one through spiritual growth. I looked at the start of a case as the start of a journey, and so the I-Ching fit with that. Some forms of ‘divination’ required questions of a specific nature and right now we didn’t have enough information to ask an intelligent question. Not that intelligence, or lack thereof, had ever stopped us before.
The problem was, of course, asking the right question. I could throw the reeds without thinking, I suppose, but they might get me, say, advice on my next food shopping, or how to adjust the office to conform with Feng Shui, or when to have children.
I thought about this for quite some time before realizing I was running around in mental circles. I took the ornate box from my desk drawer and pulled out the yarrows.
I went for simple.
“What should I do next?”
I tossed the yarrows on my desk.
The results were Hexagram 42 and 48.
42’s interpretation for the present was:
I (Increase):There will be advantage in every movement which shall be undertaken, and it will even be advantageous to cross the great stream.
The first (bottommost) line, undivided, shows that it will be advantageous for its subject in his position to make a great movement. If it be greatly fortunate, no blame will be inputed to him.
The second line, divided, shows parties adding to the stores of its subject ten pairs of tortoise shells whose oracles cannot be opposed. Let him persevere in being firm and correct, and there will be good fortune. Let the king, having the virtues thus distinguished, employ them in presenting his offerings to God, and there will be good fortune.
The third line, divided, shows increase given to its subject by means of what is evil, so that he shall be led to good, and be without blame. Let him be sincere and pursue the path of the Mean, so shall he secure the recognition of the ruler, like an officer who announces himself to his prince by the symbol of his rank.
In the sixth line, undivided, we see one to whose increase none will contribute, while many will seek to assail him. He observes no regular rule in the ordering of his heart. There will be evil.
The situation is changing rapidly, but neither Yin (the passive feminine force) nor Yang (the active masculine force) is gaining ground.

And 48 for the future:
Ching (The Well): We think of how the site of a town may be changed, while the fashion of its wells undergoes no change. The water of a well never disappears but never receives any great increase, and those who come and those who go can draw and enjoy the benefit. If the drawing has nearly been accomplished, but before the rope has quite reached the water the bucket is broken, this is evil.
The things most apparent, those above and in front, are embodied by the upper trigram Sun (Wind), which is tansforming into K'an (Water). As part of this process, penetration and following are giving way to danger and the unknown.

The things least apparent, those below and behind, are embodied by the lower trigram Chen (Thunder), which is transforming into Sun (Wind). As part of this process, movement, initiative, and action are giving way to penetration and following.

I sighed.
Deep down inside, I hated the I-Ching. It has a couple nasty tendencies. First, I had to use a book. The Hexagram’s don’t visually imply much. That meant that the interpretation came between me and my ‘intuition’. Second, what information came through had a tendency to only become apparent AFTER the fact.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough information to use any other technique. My life, or, more importantly, my head was complex and, more to the point, aggravating. My kingdom for a crystal ball.
However, the reading was basically positive, and implied triumph over evil. Looked like I was going to be on my own for at least some of this. But, that the foundation of my world would still be around.
I’ll take what I can get.
Of course, one doesn’t need an oracle of some kind to get help.
Sometimes, one just has to get in a cab.
Which, of course, I did. I’m not an idiot.
When I got to Mitchell’s office, I stood outside for a while. I always felt like an idiot doing this. But still I was here.
I rang the buzzer.
“C’mon up, Martin,” came the voice. The door buzzed open and I went upstairs.
“How did you know it was me?”
“Because you have a new case.”
“I dread the answer to this but…how did you know that?”
“I know things. Did I mention I’m a private investigator?”
“So I hear. Actually, that’s why I’m here.”
This wasn’t an uncommon conversation.
“Sooner or later, son, you are gonna have to learn how to start these things yourself.”
“Hey, I’m getting better. I’ve got Andrew and Megan out interviewing everyone they can. When they get back, I’ll go over whatever they’ve found and see what to do.”
“So, the question isn’t what should be done first, but rather, what should YOU do now.”
“Well, yes.”
“What do you do when you are looking for someone who is either dead or doesn’t want to be found?”
“Yes, please.”
“Well, in case ‘A’, if he’s dead, don’t worry too much about it. Chances are, if he’s dead, he’s in a hotel somewhere after eating a gun or hanging himself. He’ll be found within the next two weeks.”
“You think?”
“Well, its unlikely anyone would kill a financial consultant and go to great lengths to hide the body and any evidence of the murder. And if they DID try to go to those lengths, its probably because the perpetrators aren’t good murderers and evidence of the murder , if not evidence of the murderers themselves, would have shown up. We’d know that he’d been killed.”
“Hm.”
“A smart student knows when to keep his mouth shut. Good job.”
“Hm.”
“In case ‘B’, his body will be found within a month of his suicide. Most motel’s only take payments for up to a month in advance, so sooner or later someone is going into that room. Also, he’ll start to stink pretty fast. Any way you look at it, if he killed himself, he’s going to be found in 2 weeks.”
“May I ask a question?”
“Of course. A smart student knows when to ask questions, too.”
“What if he didn’t kill himself in a motel room?”
“Its possible, but statistically, its a motel room.”
“OK. And if he’s hiding?”
“Well, you’ll have to wait until the Mousekateers get back. Look at what they bring you and go ask new questions. The follow his footsteps. This is simple stuff.”
“Yeah, I know. I find the start of projects to be paralyzing.”
“Its inertia. The only reason you actually do anything is because someone walks through your office door and won’t pay you for sitting on your ass.”
“Sometimes they call.”
“Sure. And you want to know why they come through your door and not mine even though I have better advertising, and more experience?”
“Please.”
“Its either because their cases are so weird that they don’t feel comfortable going to a ‘respectable’ investigator, or…”
“Or ?”
“Or its because your last name is Alexander and mine is Tiskevich.”
“Thanks. Because my ego needs this sort of support.”
“And I’m more than happy to get the normal boring work. Thanks for taking one for the team.”
“At least I’m good for something.”
“Look, you actually are good at this. At least at the weird ones. You solved that clown extortion thing a couple months ago.”
“I was hoping to pitch that as a movie-of-the-week thing. But neither of the restaurant chains involved seemed happy with the idea.”
“And those vanishing dogs stopped vanishing because of you too. You do good work so long as everyone involved is vague deranged.”
“Maybe. That came back to bite me in the ass a couple weeks ago. Someone took a shot at me through my window.”
“Yeah. So I hear. Lucky your associate is as paranoid as he should be.”
“I fought Andrew tooth and nail against installing the bulletproof glass, but I was wrong.”
“You’ve commented a number of times about wanting to be ‘hard boiled’. Welcome to the club.”
“Are all P.I.s this silly about image?”
“Nope. Just the ones who really get things done. Its like rock music. Or poetry. Its all about the image. And the image is all about the girls.”
“You get girls?”
“No, but I keep trying.”
“Want a free membership to Megan’s webcam?”
“She already gave me one.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about you associating with the help.”
“That’s unfortunate. But I don’t make enough money to pass up a freebie at 150 a month”
“Kind of makes you wonder why I bother taking cases anyhow.”
“Not really. You have something inside you that needs to express itself or you’ll blow up.”
I stared at him for a moment.
“How did you…?”
“Because you aren’t the only one.”
There ended the lesson. Without a word, I left.
I found myself, three hours later, on the subway, still thinking about why Mitchel did what he did. Why he wasn’t a musician, or a poet, or something else. But it wasn’t just about girls. It was something more and maybe it was something more like me than I realized. And even if it wasn’t the same as this weirdness that had grown within me over the past couple years, I still felt less alone. This would significantly reduce the amount of time I needed with my shrink this week.
I made it back to the office and started going over the case materials again.
Dead or alive, I was still doing a job.
Megan was right. There was something off about this guy. His call log has some weird names in it. Credit card charges showed he’d taken a few trips on his own that didn’t appear to be business related. I couldn’t open myself up to the information the way I’d like, but I could feel something tickling. A rapping at my chamber door. Unfortunately, I couldn’t let the raven in.
Unless I felt like 6 months of playing with my own poo.
Which was cool for the first couple weeks but got old very quickly.
Regardless, something more was happening with our missing friend. Dead, or alive, either he was up to something that wasn’t just stocks and hedge funds, or something other than his wife or mafia was pulling strings.
Or I was being paranoid.
I had to work on my confidence.
*

I’d been waiting in the office for a few hours when Megan and Andrew finally returned.
“Where have you two been?” I asked.
“Well, we bumped into each other on the way back and decided to exchange notes before coming here for a summary,” Megan replied.
“Good. Then hit me with it.”
“Well, Andrew talked to Mr. Beaumont’s friends, and I talked with his co-workers. They all confirmed that he’d been distracted. The coworkers, specifically his secretary, noted that he’d been going out for these very long lunches.”
“Well, that’s certainly a sign of…hm. Of what?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But the secretary said he was coming back smelling oddly.”
“Oddly?”
“Oddly.”
“Not of alcohol.”
“If she knew it was alcohol, she would have said ‘He came back smelling drunk’, woulnd’t you think?”
“Maybe. But not if she was trying to cover for him.”
“I am impressed by your new awareness of people’s behaviors. However, if she was trying to cover for him, she wouldn’t have mentioned it at all.”
“Touche. We might make a P.I. out of you yet.”
“I was talking with Tiskevich. It always gets my head working this way. That said, did anyone know where he was going during lunch? I know this is an obvious question and almost certainly won’t have an answer, but I’m obligated to ask.”
“Nope. Unfortunately, the people he was friends with at work are all on vacation.”
“How many is that?”
”How many what?”
“How many friends of his are on vacation?”
“Uh, wait…” Megan began going through her notes, counting.
“Looks like…fifteen.”
“Fifteen? Doesn’t that sound like a lot?”
“Fifteen people on vacation out of a company of 250 does not seem like a significant percentage,” Andrew chimed in.
“No. But doesn’t it seem odd that fifteen of this guys friends are on vacation at once?”
“Hm. Yes. Perhaps they all went together?”
“Without our target? Nice friends.”
“There might have been some reason he didn’t go.”
“Like the thing distracting him that we keep coming back to? Yeah.”
“What about his boss?”
“Out sick.”
“For how long?”
“A couple weeks, apparently.”
“Hm.”
I thought about that.
“Andrew, his out of work associates?”
“There weren’t a whole lot of them. Generally, they said, he worked too much and too late to make any friends. Neighbors noticed that his car wasn’t around very much the past couple weeks.”
“And it took you two this long to tell me…what?”
“honestly, almost nothing.”
“Great.”
We sat in silence for a while.
“Could be worse.”
“Really? How so, Andrew?”
“Well, you could be sitting in front of a pile of dissected dogs looking for a ring by hand.”
“Yes. That was certainly a thrill. Did I tell you he was making almost 2500 bucks a week selling those organs online? I mean, even after the ones he was keeping for his own medical purposes?”
“Really? Off of ads in Occult Monthly?” Megan was also interesting in business models.
“And alternative medicine sales. And I’m pretty sure he was selling the blood to ‘vampires’.”
“Christ. Could we not get one normal case? Just one?”
“All things considered, the case at hand seems pretty normal.”
“Outside of the lack of any real information,” interjected Andrew.
“Actually, I don’t think the lack of evidence really is significant. Assuming that he’s either trying to not be found, or he’s killed himself, wouldn’t it make sense that we wouldn’t see very much? I mean, even the blind spot of his extra-ciricular activities would make sense.”
“And his friends all on vacation at the same time.”
“Yeah yeah. Sometimes, just sometimes, it might be a coincidence.”
“Martin, has it been your experience that anything we encounter that might be a coincidence is, in fact, a coincidence?”
“Unfortunately, Andrew, no. But I’m willing to accept the possibility.”
“Unfortunately, indeed.”
Again with the silence.
“Well, regardless,” I said, “we aren’t any closer, really, to figuring out what actually has happened. If its not a coincidence, I’m sure we’ll be lucky enough to find out sooner or later.”
“Unfortunately, indeed,” parroted Megan.
“OK. You two are creeping me out. Go home. I’ve got things to do.”
“Like what?”
“Well, I’ve got more than a few hundred documents to start going through again. And another interview.”
“Who?”
“Who else? Ms. Beaumont.”