He took a cold drink to his workstation and began to answer personal e-mails. He never had very many. But today, he heard from Rain, and it was a significant message. She and Gary had gotten married. “Since we couldn’t see the situation with his kids changing and we weren’t getting any younger, we just eloped!” she wrote. Manfred sighed heavily. Rain Redding. He’d have to get used to it. And he’d have to have a conversation with Fiji about an appropriate wedding gift. He tried composing a reply, but after two abortive attempts, he decided he would call later. An unspecified “later.” When all this is over, he thought.

Finally, he started real work. He turned on the psychic hotline phone, as he thought of it, and started taking calls. In between calls, he answered the paying e-mails. And if he caught up with those, there was the Amazing Bernardo website, and messages to answer there. The routine took over. He almost forgot about the woman with the gun behind him, and the strange people going around searching Midnight, and he worked. After all, the bill from Magdalena would be high, and his car wasn’t any younger.

At least he wouldn’t have to fly home for his mother’s wedding.

A knock at the door broke his concentration. He sent the e-mail he was working on (Your boyfriend gives off a very violent vibration, and you should take care of your own safety first) before he went to the door.

And then looked down.

The man was less than five feet tall and looked to Manfred’s uneducated eyes like an Indian. Manfred could not have specified what kind of Indian or his country of origin, but he was built broadly and he was very dark skinned. The whites of his eyes weren’t actually white, but faintly yellow.

“Hello,” Manfred said, hoping Olivia was primed to take action. “Can I help you?”

“Your name, sir?”

The Indian’s voice was not the deep rumble Manfred had expected. It was a light tenor. Manfred felt ridiculously self-conscious and couldn’t decide what a totally innocent response would be to what was actually a kind of strange question.

“You’re the one who knocked,” he said. “I’m working here, and I need to get back to it.” He began closing the door, but there was a small boot in the way.

“Excuse me,” said the Indian. “Perhaps I wasn’t polite or clear. I am looking for someone, and I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Maybe I wasn’t clear,” Manfred retorted. “I am working, and I am not obliged to answer your questions.” He tried to close the door again. The boot didn’t move.

“Is there anyone else in your house?” the Indian asked.

“No, there is no one else in my house.”

“May I look and see?”

“No.” Manfred was definite about that.