Is that what happened? I asked myself. And why? Why, I thought, was he wearing a coat in the first place?

I slid the drawer shut, then opened it again, removed a sheet of notepaper from the bundle, folded it in half, and put it in the pocket of my pants. There, I thought. Now what has that achieved? I felt like a member of a cargo cult, who, after donning his wooden headset, gazes up from a straw control tower at an empty sky, without the faintest idea of what to expect.

There must be something I was missing. It occurred to me then that the sound of snoring had stopped, and I looked over at the guest lecturer, half certain she’d be propped up on one elbow, watching me at my probably pointless ritual. But she was not; she was as laid out on her back as ever, only now the rise and fall of the lavender suit jacket was imperceptible. But she might wake at any point. Perhaps, I thought, it was time for me to go. And it was then, as I slid the desk drawer shut and turned toward the door, that I stubbed my toe, and noticed the dark, solid object I had stubbed it on, which on closer examination was revealed to be a slim briefcase made of smooth brown leather that had been concealed in the shadowy recess below the desk.

Strange, I thought. Why would the guest lecturer feel the need to hide a briefcase beneath her desk?

I knelt and ran my fingers along its top, feeling the metal buckles. I looked over at the guest lecturer lying on the bed, at her earrings, at her brassy hair and wide mouth. I thought, The woman before me would not carry such a briefcase. The two simply did not go together. I ran my fingertips along the buckles again. There was no lock. All I had to do was desire it and the briefcase would open. I lifted it, ever so slightly, off the floor, and gave it a gentle shake—something inside made a heavy clunk. Whatever it was, it was certainly not made of paper.

But, I told myself, this was not, strictly speaking, a part of looking into my father’s death. No reasonable argument could be made about its relevance. So what if a woman from Colorado, an unassuming woman, a somewhat coarse and unappealing woman, had found herself in possession of a lovely and apparently expensive briefcase? What did that have to do with me?

Nothing! I answered my own question sharply. The answer was nothing. And as I thought this, I saw that I had opened the briefcase.