“Hi Rose, it’s Ace. I wanted to run some things by you.”
“Of course, Mr. Edison.” Why was he using our first names?
“Oh, um ... Okay, Ms. Myrtle, so I did some digging today and the owner of the air-conditioning company thinks he has paper records going back decades. They’re not filed in any particular way in terms of the billers, but they are sorted by year. I organized to go down on Friday to go through the boxes for the year around your conception date. Would that be okay? I haven’t begun with the lead from the bar because I think it would beeasier to find the photocopier serviceman and then rule him in or out.”
“That sounds most efficient. Thank you, Mr. Edison.”
“Right, well, I’ll do that then. Shall I call you if I find anything?”
“A text first would be fine, thank you. Then we can talk if you have discovered anything.”
I was angry at myself and confused about what to say. I didn’t want to seem rude because I knew he was giving me a cheap rate, but I also didn’t want to let myself over-thank the man and read into things.
“Are you okay, Ms. Myrtle? Is there anything else you feel I should know?”
Why was he asking that? What was he referring to?
“I’m fine, thank you. And I’m grateful for your action in this matter.”
God, now I sounded like a bureaucrat in an official letter.
“Terrific, then we’ll speak then. I’ll call you ... I mean, I’ll text you if anything comes up before then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Edison. Goodbye.” I ended the call before he could respond. I spent the next minute celebrating the success of my phone call. I was doing well.
Consistency in my actions creates stability in my life.
Consistency in my actions creates stability in my life.
Consistency in my actions creates stability in my life.
Chapter 5: The Hound—New clues
The week had been largely uneventful. I’d cut ties with Barbara after showing her hotel receipts, images of her husband kissing another woman with visible tongue in a park, and GPS records showing the unfaithful Mr. Harrod spending time at his mistress’s house. She’d created a bunch of justifications for my evidence, so I’d explained to her that I could not provide any further information and would therefore be closing the case.
Roy Petrov met me at the air-conditioning office and led me to a back room, where boxes upon boxes were stored.
“The missus keeps telling me to clear this out, but we don’t really need the space and I’m so flat out. We’re down three techs, so it’s not on my list of priorities. Let me know if you find what you’re looking for,” he said, his eyes gleaming. I was grateful for his help, even if I’d only secured it by whetting his appetite for adventure. I hadn’t given specifics, only that I was investigating an incident 29 years ago involving a service supplier to his company. I’m sure he thought it was a whole lot juicier than a paternity investigation, but I’d let him think that if it meant he left me unattended in his very dusty archive room.
I grabbed the box for the year of Rose’s conception and began going through it. Cleaning invoices, caterer’s bills, and contractor statements were packed into the box. The documents had yellowed, and some of the dot matrix print had faded, making them unreadable. Ah, I spotted the old Canon logo on a document. It was from early September, which would fit with Rose being born in June the following year. The print was faded. Ironic. The cleaning company documents had retained their bold print, while the printer company invoice was faded.
I squinted to make out the name of the service technician. Robert? Roberto? It could even just be a surname like Roberts. It was my only clue. I scanned the document using my phone. Thetechnician had an employee number, but the middle three digits were too faded to see. A company like Canon would have its data locked down tight, but I’d check to see if one of my hackers could manage it.
I thanked Roy, telling him that unfortunately, I hadn’t found what I was after. He looked disappointed, like he had convinced himself he was going to be part of the next Watergate. I texted Rose to update her. It probably didn’t need a phone call, given that I hadn’t actually found anything solid. Just another clue, but I wanted to tell her.
Me: Hi Rose. I’ve found some records of the photocopier repairman and will investigate further. Do you recall a Robert or Roberto being mentioned by your mother?
Zahra: Good afternoon, Mr. Edison. No, I do not recall that name. Thank you for the update. Regards, Ms. Myrtle.
Regards? On a text? I reread my message and realized I’d trampled all over her name preferences again. I could kick myself. I was usually so careful to ensure I maintained client boundaries. I texted her back. It was unnecessary but I wanted to confirm that I’d remembered her wishes.
Me: You are welcome, Ms. Myrtle.
I didn’t want to break this woman, or intrude into her space, but something in me wanted to get to know her better. I wanted to make her feel something beyond the distant, cold existence she’d seemingly created for herself. Maybe I could do it anonymously? She could feel some happiness, some attachment, without having a target to attach herself to.
I pulled out my phone and ordered some roses to be delivered to her. I kept the message simple.
For Rose, my Zahra, please smile. You deserve to feel happy.
