“Pruitt’s body was discovered at the bottom of this shaft within hours of the fall. He drove here in a jeep.” I indicated a spot near the berm. “Security and other personnel had access to a fleet. What brought him this far? He could’ve jumped into any of the other shafts. What was special about this one?”

“You’re latched on to the idea he killed himself,” Lionel said.

“Can’t uncover a solid reason for him to be out here in the weeds. Wasn’t part of his task assignment. I’m not latched on to anything, though.”

“Good. This is also a cozy spot for a murder, which could be the reason he was here.” He leaned over and spat. “Nothing down there. Bottomless.”

“It’s not bottomless. It’s maybe a hundred and eighty or ninety feet. And behold, a ladder.”

“Yeah, I see that shitty ladder.” He put his hat back on. “There’s a diamond mine in eastern Siberia. Open pit, over three thousand feet in diameter. Enormous, gaping wound; a borehole to hell. The mineshaft creates its own weather system. Choppers won’t fly over the pit. The vortex will suck ’em in.”

“Hate to ponder how they made that discovery,” I said. “Although it sounds apocryphal.”

“Reporting the news, bud.” He watched as I tightened the Velcro head strap of my miner’s lamp. “Wait. What are you doing? Your fat ass is definitely not climbing onto that ladder.”

I clicked the headlamp on and off. Its halogen bulb wasn’t as bright as the sun. Close, though.

“Kicked pasta last month.” I patted my gut. “Lost a pound, easy. Now to reap the benefits.”

“Turn around; you’ll find it again. Coleridge . . .”

“Yes, Mom?”

“Weren’t you the one who said that the cops and CSI already picked the crime scene over? Multiply futility by four years and you get one hundred percent futility.”

“If there wasn’t a ladder, I’d cede the field to your pessimism.”

“But there’s a ladder.”

“You call it a ladder; I call it a sign. Have you ever walked around a supercollider track? Sean P was so enthralled with the notion, he had it inked on his arm.”

“Right on,” he said. “The dead guy was a nerd. Nerds and their science fiction tats.”

“You were standing there when Herzog said he thought this place might be the new Area 51. Your girlfriends at the bar gave you valuable intel. Suspicious nocturnal activity, the ladies said. Sounds like a clue.”

“Sounds like an excuse for you to play Frank Hardy. Difference between today and last night is that I’m relatively sober. People worried that the Hadron Collider would tear open a black hole, or create a parallel universe. Paranoid delusions are the jelly in the PB and J sandwich.”

“Told you before, I’m not a Hardy. I’m Jonny Quest. I’ve never, ever gone caving. What red-blooded private eye would ignore this golden opportunity to go spelunking?”

“One who isn’t a big fucking dummy?” he said.

“We only come in fun-size.”