“Logic says depression overwhelmed him,” I said. “Screw logic. Nothing is logical about this case. My gut and every other part insist Sean was murdered. The insurance payout complicates a simple premise: Some assholes thought a black magic ceremony would benefit a construction project. As you alluded, the collider was more like a temple in their twisted view. I don’t see how I can take this to the authorities or give Sean’s family closure. My theory falls under the category of preposterous in the mundane universe.”

“You are perfectly correct.” Dr. Campbell looked at his friend as he spoke to me. “There can’t be a happy outcome. Justice will not be done. Sean was an innocent. An uncommon trait among adults. His sense of wonder grappled with profound cynicism and depression. He embraced the ineffable and the numinous. Lamentably, it embraced him as well.” The old man gestured. “The boy was an artist with a crayon. Despite our many peregrinations, I kept his drawings among my treasured possessions. Would you care to see them?”

“Jesus God, no,” I said.

Why come here? Dr. Ryoko wrote.

“Because a man doesn’t know what he doesn’t know,” I said. “What I’ve seen, what you’ve graciously shared, goes into the mill.” I touched my temple. “The stone is already grinding.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Campbell said. “I hope speaking with us has helped crystallize your thoughts.”

“The Gordian knot is looser. Do you gentlemen happen to be in contact with Linda Flanagan?”

“Dear Linda. Poor woman withdrew into seclusion.”

Find her! Dr. Ryoko wrote. The nurse came and wheeled him to his afternoon therapy session.

Dr. Campbell watched his friend go.

“I can’t disagree with Toshi. Linda was at Sean’s side during his long decline. I wouldn’t guess her to possess a traitorous bone in her body.”

“People often surprise you,” I said.

“In the worst possible manner. Do find her.”

Dr. Campbell and I retired to the kitchen. He smoked three more cigarettes and regaled me with anecdotes of Sean’s ham-fisted attempts to woo Linda. As the last cigarette burned toward the filter, he set it aside and took my hand and studied my palm.

“Doc, a lot of things bother me,” I said as he turned my hand this way and that. “One nags me more than the rest. Why would Redlick, why would anyone, want to create a doomsday device?”

“Doomsday with a small d,” Dr. Campbell said. “He is among those who believe apocalypse is inevitable and would prefer to guide the eventual crash. Gerald is also convinced that evidence points toward the arrival of extraterrestrial life in our solar system. Astronomers tracking odd comets and asteroids have publicly speculated regarding that possibility. To put it plainly, he is of the opinion we should shut off the lights and revert to a pre-industrial civilization. The hope being that any aliens would stroll past a darkened house. The Jeffers Collider could be designed to knock out power globally.”

“Okay,” I said. Badja Adeyemi had said something oblique, but along these lines.