David Levien - City of the Sun

Behr dropped his bag in the middle of the floor and Paul followed suit. The investigator motioned for Paul to have a seat and left the room. A moment later he returned carrying two cans of soda.

“What ’ s with all this? If you don ’ t mind my asking.” An odor of sour milk and tuna fish began to permeate the room.

Behr handed Paul a can. “Trash archaeology. It ’ s Derek Freeman ’ s.”

“The Pacer?”

“Yeah, the power forward. I paid a guy I know twenty bucks to get it for me.”

“You must be a real fan.”

Behr looked at Paul, the slightest glint of humor in his eye. It wasn ’ t a confidential case. He decided to explain.

“The Trib hired me. Freeman ’ s suing them for libel over their report of him having an affair. You can learn plenty from someone ’ s trash. Receipts, empty prescription bottles. Discarded papers. Gambling receipts. Phone bills. Strange DNA on Q-Tips. Condoms when their wife is on the pill. They ’ re hoping I ’ ll prove their story. At least enough to keep them out of court. And I will.” Behr shrugged and popped his soda can open. If he was at all embarrassed about picking through refuse, he didn ’ t show it. As Behr drank off half his soda, Paul noticed the man ’ s hand was the size of a brick.

“What can I do for you?”

Paul fiddled with his own soda can and took a breath. “I think I need…I need a detective. My son. He ’ s twelve. He was twelve and a half. He ’ s almost fourteen now. He ’ s been gone a year and two months.”

A darkness came over Behr and seemed to fill the room, as if an eclipse was taking place in the sky outside.

“Gone?”

“Went out on his paper route end of last October. Didn ’ t come back.”

“Police?”

“We ’ ve been to them, of course.” Paul raised the manila file folder by way of explanation.

“Of course. Amber alerts. Neighborhood canvass. They papered the runaway shelters, then pulled the manpower. You don ’ t know if they ’ re incompetent or don ’ t care.”

Paul was a bit taken aback at the man ’ s directness and let the file resettle in his lap. “All of the above.”

Behr sat back and thought. “Over a year and the trail will be cold. Ice-age cold.”

Paul was quiet. He glanced around the place. Bookshelves were filled with nonfiction hardcovers. A glass gun case held several rifles. Law enforcement plaques hung on a paneled wall near the desk. They were awards for community service, distinction in the line of duty. The dates ended several years back.

Behr stared at him and Paul came out and said it. “I ’ d like someone to look into it. You were recommended.”

“I can ’ t do that.”

“Why not?”

“The cops aren ’ t incompetent, and they do care. It ’ d be a thousand to one finding anything…and even then you wouldn ’ t like what I found.”

Paul couldn ’ t help feeling a foolish sense of rejection and a sudden desperation, a swirling vortex of helplessness threatening him. “But…” He gestured at the trash on the living-room floor. “You can ’ t be so busy — ”

“It ’ s not about that,” Behr half barked. Something close to anger sounded in his voice for a moment, then departed. “Listen, how ’ s your wife coping?”

“Well, I guess. In her own way…but badly. Real bad.”

Behr nodded with knowing. “What other way is there?”

Silence took over, and neither man seemed willing to tamper with it for a long while, then Behr spoke again. “It ’ d be very costly, you know. Not just the hourly, but also the expenses. And time-consuming.”

Paul shrugged.

“I see. You ’ re willing to pay. Anything you ’ ve got.”

“That ’ s right.”

“Put your house up. Sell everything.”

“Yeah.”

“But even then…Look, Mr. Gabriel, for most people hope ’ s a beautiful thing. For you and your wife it ’ s dangerous. I don ’ t want to take you through anything more than you ’ ve been already.”

Paul stood. “There ’ s nothing that could be worse than not knowing. Not even…nothing.”

Behr seemed to understand but averted his gaze.

“I ’ m sorry, buddy. I can ’ t do this. There are plenty of other investigators and I ’ m sure you ’ ll find a good one. Now I ’ ve got some garbage to sort.”

Paul put his unopened soda can down on the television tray and headed for the door.

Behr knelt on the floor and went about his business, not noticing that beneath the soda can rested a manila folder.

Carol answered the door late on a Thursday afternoon and found a heavyset woman in her forties with dyed black hair standing outside.

“Hello, Mrs. Gabriel?” she said through the screen door.

“Yes?” Carol caught an almost magenta hue coming off the woman ’ s hair.

“I understand you have a missing boy.”

Carol ’ s heart instantly pounded and she felt herself go weak. “Yes. Do you know something about him?”

“I might be able to help. My name is Ms. Raven. I ’ m a spiritualist. I ’ ve worked on these cases before.”

Carol ’ s heart began to slow. If this had been last week even, she would have probably said No, thank you. Instead she swung open the screen door. “Umm…Why don ’ t you come in? My husband will be home soon.”

When Paul arrived, he found them sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Ms. Raven held Jamie ’ s Colts cap. Paul joined them and learned how she had come to them.

“I have a friend down at the station who I confer with on certain cases. He told me about yours and I thought I would try.”

“Well, we appreciate it, but…” said Paul.

“Do you believe?” the woman asked.

“In what?” Carol said aloud. Paul gave her a look.

“Psychic powers. It helps if you believe. I get stronger sensations that way.”

“Oh, well. We don ’ t not believe. We don ’ t really think about it, I guess.”

“We want to believe.” Paul gave it a try. “Is there anything we can do?”

Ms. Raven closed her eyes and sat back, feeling the baseball cap.

Tater, curled up across the kitchen, looked up from time to time.

The kitchen had fallen silent, and just when the quiet threatened to go on forever, Ms. Raven spoke. “I see a van,” she said with conviction.

“We have a van.”

Carol glanced at Paul, not wanting his talk to mess the woman up.

“And a bicycle. A blue bicycle.”

“Yes. Jamie ’ s bike was blue.” Paul spoke again. Carol ’ s stomach turned over at the possibility that this woman ’ s vision was real.

“You ’ re on a trip. Down south. Jamie has gone for a bike ride.” Ms. Raven became agitated, her breathing short and sharp.

Paul and Carol grew confused.

“The bike has fallen and Jamie seems hurt,” she went on. “He ’ s not dead, but hurt.”

Carol moaned involuntarily and her face squeezed the way it did before her tears came.

Seeing this, Paul was prompted to speak. “Look, Ms. Raven. I think you ’ ve got it wrong. We weren ’ t on a trip. We were right here. We ’ ve checked around. The police, the hospitals. It was no bicycle accident. Thank you for trying, but maybe we should, you know, stop.”

Ms. Raven sat there for a minute, then two, breathing through her mouth, before she answered. “This is not an exact science.”

“I understand that. Look, we appreciate your help, but I think this is upsetting my wife.” Carol didn ’ t dispute him. “What do we owe you for this?”

Ms. Raven put down the cap and gathered her coat and bag. “You don ’ t have to pay me. It ’ s quite all right,” she said, slight offense in her voice. “If we schedule a time for me to come back, I can look at his room. Try further…” She shrugged on her coat.