“I see. Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”

“None of my business what you do, Dr. Cole.” But his eyes followed her to the washroom door and watched her when she returned.

Back in her office she took out a pad of paper and a pen and wrote the word QUESTIONS at the top.

Then she paused, nibbled the pen top, collected her thoughts.

Re: Orrin Mather document

1. Did Orrin write this or is it someone else’s work? If someone else, who?

It occurred to her that she might be able to find out whether the document was a blatant act of plagiarism. She called up a search function on her desktop and entered a couple of text strings from the document. No meaningful matches. Which proved only that the text, if it existed outside of Orrin’s notebooks, hadn’t been posted to the Web—a positive result would have been significant; a negative result proved nothing.

2. Is this a work of fiction or a delusional construct?

She couldn’t answer that without access to Orrin. Bose had said there was something about the Findley warehouse later on in the document, which suggested that Orrin had contributed at least a few words of his own to the story. Which led to the next question:

3. Is there a real “Turk Findley,” and, if so, is he connected to the Findley who operates the warehouse?

She searched a Houston-area phone directory and found a whole raft of Findleys, but nothing between Tomas and Tyrell. No T. Findleys, either.

4. Is there a real Allison Pearl?

According to Orrin’s document, Allison Pearl had lived in Champlain, New York. Feeling more than a little foolish, Sandra accessed a Champlain directory and searched it. It listed five Pearls. The majority were singletons, none of them A. or Allison. Two were couples, listed under the male partner’s name. Mr. and Mrs. Harvey Pearl and Mr. and Mrs. Franklin W. Pearl.

She opened her phone and closed it again twice before she worked up the courage to tap in one of the numbers. Idiotic, she thought. She might as well try to place a call to Huck Finn or Harry Potter.

Harvey Pearl answered on the fourth ring. He was friendly but bemused. Nope, no Allison here. Sandra apologized hastily and hung up. She could feel herself blushing.

One more call, she told herself; then she could give up and forget about it.

Mrs. Franklin Pearl answered this time, a younger and friendlier-sounding voice. Sandra asked meekly whether she could speak to Allison.

“Um—may I ask who’s calling?”

Sandra’s pulse quickened. “Well, I don’t even know if I have the right number … I’m trying to find an old friend, Allison Pearl, and last I heard she was in Champlain, so…”