I shook hands and left him on that melancholy note. His phone was ringing as I went down the walk, and he called out to me to wait—it was his wife, on her break.

He spoke in Spanish, explaining that a detective was here asking about Señor Veriden. After that, I lost track of the conversation, except for the “sí, sí, sí” that Baros interjected at intervals.

When he hung up, Baros shook his head sadly. “She didn’t know he was going away. He is a nice young man. We would not like to think of any harm coming to him.”

4
Long Shot

Even though I’d never met August, I wouldn’t want any harm to come to him either. I had gone to his place partly to quiet Bernie, partly because I’d been baffled by what I’d seen at the gym yesterday.

Now I was not only baffled but worried. In fiction it’s the cliché of the serial killer or drug dealer that he’s quiet, keeps himself to himself: Such a good boy, so attentive to my wife, you’d never suspect him of dismembering and burying a dozen people. We never believed he was head of a cartel that stole drugs from college locker rooms.

In fiction August would be that person—quiet, thoughtful, tidy on the outside, a raging psychopath within. This being real life, or at least as close as I could get to such a thing, I found it highly unlikely. Call it impossible.

A cold drizzle began to fall, forcing me to sprint the last quarter mile home—parking is at such a premium in August’s neck of the woods that I’d walked the two miles from my own place. There’s nothing like physical discomfort to clear the mind. When I’d changed into dry clothes and made myself an espresso, I phoned a detective I know at Area Six.

Terry Finchley and I have a long history. We respect each other and don’t quite trust each other. In his case it’s part general cop dislike of PIs complicated by his being close to a cop I used to date: Terry thinks I behaved badly to Conrad Rawlings, because Conrad got shot when he involved himself in a case I was working. However, Terry is one of the most senior officers I know whom I trust. He’s also African-American and might be more empathetic with August’s situation.

I left a précis of the situation on his voice mail. “Right now your buddies in Evanston aren’t treating it like much of anything, but I don’t want August in the cross hairs if they suddenly decide it’s a major event. I’d love it if your techies printed the ruins in August’s apartment and compared notes with Evanston over the break-in at the gym.”