Black Cat Weekly #19

A REASONABLE EXPECTATION OF PRIVACY, by N.M. Cedeño-1

A REASONABLE EXPECTATION OF PRIVACY,

by N.M. CedeñoThe hardest thing to adjust to in my second life was using a public restroom. Walking by one and seeing someone going about his business through a clear wall is disconcerting enough. Being the person using the facilities and watching strangers pass is nearly impossible. I’ve gotten used to seeing the neighbors bathe and perform unmentionable personal grooming. I’m glad that clothing is still considered necessary to protect one from the elements here in the northeast. The nudists have made considerable inroads in warmer climates.

I went to sleep one day, okay, fell into a deep coma after being shot, and woke up fifteen years later in a world I barely recognize. Anonymity is dead. Privacy is not only obsolete, but to desire it engenders suspicion of one’s motives. Social norms didn’t merely change while I slept, they underwent a revolution. When I went out, via a bullet to the head, I was a twenty-nine-year-old moderately successful private investigator. Now, thanks to a minor miracle involving the regenerative properties of neural tissue, I’m a forty-nine-year-old private investigator on the brink of bankruptcy. For five years I adjusted myself to the ways the world and my business changed. Mara Kalleigh’s case was the bucket of cold water that made me wish I’d fought back rather than adjust.

My office is in a forty-year-old store front strip retrofitted with a transparent front wall. I like it because it still has the “old-fashioned” interior wall board dividing the businesses and restrooms. I find it strikes the right balance for my clients as well. The location offers the open face society demands, yet the privacy that a visit to an investigator requires.

I was sitting at my desk trying to decide how many of my bills would go unpaid in the next week, when I glanced up to see a woman hesitating in front of my door. She stared at the lettering, which read Lincoln Protection and Investigations, turned to walk away, paused, turned back to the door, and yanked it with enough force to fling it all the way open.

I flicked off my budget management program and stood to greet her.

“Welcome to Lincoln Protection and Investigations. I’m Pete Lincoln.”

She reached out to shake my hand with a firm grip and responded, “Mara Kalleigh.” She didn’t smile or frown. Instead, it seemed that her habitual expression was flat. She didn’t strike me as an easy person to get to know.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Kalleigh?”

“I don’t know if you can help me or not.” She gave me a measuring look, like a bird studying an approaching person, deciding whether to fly or not. “Did you ever have the feeling you were being watched? I mean, the sense that someone was watching you so intently you could feel their eyes? When the hair on the back of your neck stands up, and you can’t resist the urge to look over your shoulder?”

I knew the feeling she was describing. It’s the last thing I felt before I was shot. But I wasn’t sure if I was dealing with her reality or a paranoid delusion.

The lady seemed to sense my concern and responded. “I’m not paranoid. Someone is following me. I’ve spotted the same two men at different times and places six times in the last two weeks. I’ve seen them outside my apartment, my office, my grocery store, and my gym. I feel like I’m being stalked, but I don’t know why or by whom.”

“Please, sit. I’ll need to get some more details.”

She sat gracefully, if nervously. Her hands moved quickly to brush her thickly curling brown hair back from her face. A single corkscrew sprang right back to her forehead.

I sat and began entering her information. Her eyes studied me as I created her file in my database. I knew what she saw: the scar on my temple, the graying hair, the sharp chin and crooked nose. My face wasn’t repulsive, but it wasn’t movie star quality either.

Once we got past the basics—name, address, date of birth, contact information—and discussed my usual rates of payment, she relaxed visibly. Her arms and legs uncrossed and the look on her face was peaceful instead of piercing.

“Why did you choose to come to me, Ms. Kalleigh?”

She answered in quick clipped syllables, “Well, I have no evidence of illegal activity, so going to the police would be pointless.”

“Why choose me and not another investigator in town?” I always ask this question. The answer usually tells me a lot about a client’s motives and frame of mind as well as how seriously they had considered the problem they were bringing me.

“When I looked up investigators, you were the only one who didn’t have links to your book recommendations, articles you enjoy, friends’ blogs, or other personal data. Your information was basic and to the point. You don’t put your personal life online for the world to see. I thought you would be the most discreet and that you would understand my desire for privacy. I’m a little behind the times. I like my privacy, which makes people suspect me of hiding something. You’re also old enough to remember a time when privacy wasn’t a bad word.”

During my first life, people were already beginning to supply the world with what I considered an insane amount of detail about their private lives. People kept blogs, posting their daily activities and their every thought. They updated everyone on where they went and when. It became a simple matter to find out if people were where they said they were. They all had GPS functions informing the world of their whereabouts. “Sharing” was becoming the order of the day. I never did get on board with that.

Her answer was more specific than most I got. “I understand. Tell me, why are you behind the times? What drives your desire for privacy?”

She nodded her head in a way that told me she had expected that question and was prepared for it. “You might call my reason sensory overload, or maybe exhaustion. I work all day in customer service assisting annoyed and demanding people. I’m an introvert. Dealing with people all day wears me down and leaves me wishing I could hide in a dark room and relax. When I get home, I don’t want to speak to anyone, talk to anyone, see anyone, or hear anyone. The apartment complex where I live is old, so it has interior walls, like your office here. Last year, the owner modernized it for energy efficiency, so each unit has one transparent exterior wall. I’ve hung a huge curtain over mine. As I’m leaving for work in the morning, I open it, and I close it when I get home. The manager understands. She is old enough to be my grandmother. But the neighbors give me odd looks when I see them.”

Not long after I was shot, a minor court case marked the decision that anyone who kept a blog or a public web-page was a public persona, not entitled to the same degree of privacy as others. Two shocking cases of child abuse later, a court decided that certain criminals, upon release from prison, were no longer entitled to the right of privacy granted by a closed door. Then, in one year the “Big One” at magnitude 9.8 finally hit California, and a category 5 hurricane blew through New York City. New housing was built everywhere, and most of it was made of an inexpensive, transparent, energy-efficient material called Polyvendow.

Discovered by a researcher looking for a new impact-resistant window material, Polyvendow made the jump to whole buildings when an architect named Quinn used it for a signature entrance to a symphony hall. Editorials calling for openness in our lives as the path to eliminate certain types of crime gave birth to the first transparent public buildings. A Hollywood nudist movement followed and created a world ripe for transparent housing. Pundits reprinted and repeated the statement “only people with something to hide need privacy.” They shouted down those who disagreed and forced them into uneasy compliance.

Ms. Kalleigh’s hands, clasped in her lap, were bare of rings, but I asked, “Are you married, or do you have a boyfriend or roommate living with you?”

“No, it’s only me and my tropical fish. They’re happy to see me, and they don’t make any demands.”

“No immediate family dropping in to say hello?”

“My mother died when I was six. My dad is in the merchant marine and spends his time at sea. I’m an only child. An aunt and two cousins live on the west coast.”

“So, no one would notice if you fell off the planet?”

She laughed, making a deep pleasing sound from her throat that tickled my ears. “I have friends I keep up with via computer who would notice if I didn’t play my turn at our ongoing games, and my coworkers would notice.”

Ms. Kalleigh wasn’t old, maybe mid-thirties. Her face was pretty, even if her resting expression was severe. She didn’t seem like the type to shun society, but she was a loner.

“Tell me about the men you’ve seen following you.”

She reached down and picked up her purse. “Once I realized I wasn’t imagining it, I started writing things down: times, places, descriptions of the men.” Pulling out a tablet computer, she opened a program on the screen. “Would you like a copy?”

“Send it to me.” I got out my tablet and held it next to hers. The data transfer took only a few seconds, and I reviewed the file. It was a highly detailed spreadsheet, documenting times, dates, and places, as well as clothing descriptions, vehicle descriptions and license plates. She included objects the men held and other people around at the same time. Finally, she had photos of the two men, taken from a distance and obviously without the subjects’ knowledge. I glanced at Ms. Kalleigh with a new respect: she was thorough, concise, and organized.

In spite of the quality of the data, I still had some nagging doubts. Staring at the list, I felt disappointed. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that these people simply frequented the same places as she did, especially if they lived near her. People living in the same area would likely use the same grocery store and gym. If she lived near her work, it was possible that the men worked nearby as well. If she felt she was being watched, perhaps the men had noticed her, just as she had noticed them. She was pretty and single. Maybe the men were planning to ask her out. I mapped the locations Ms. Kalleigh had provided. All were within a ten-mile radius of her home.

“Ms. Kalleigh, I can find out who the men are for you. I can follow you for a week to try and determine if they are following you. However, based on this material, these men may live and work in the same areas as you do. We all follow set patterns, like ants in a colony. While millions of us may be wandering around the city, we stick to our assigned areas. Consequently, we see the same people frequently, rather than seeing all the millions that live here. For example, you might run into your neighbors at the grocery store because people prefer to shop near home.”

She frowned her disagreement at me. “That would mean I’m imagining the malevolence I feel around me. Please, look into the situation. If it’s as you say, all coincidence, I’ll have learned I’m getting paranoid. If it’s something more, then I’ll know I’m right to trust my instincts. I’ll pay you for a week’s work.” She pulled out her tablet again and transferred the money.

We shook hands, and I promised to get back to her in a week.

Alone in my office, I was relieved to see the money in my account. The money manager program looked much less dismal. I’d given her a fair chance to back out. My instinct told me no one was following her, but if she wanted peace of mind, I’d give her peace of mind.

I hadn’t had a stalking case in a while. It was the kind of crime that became easy to see and prosecute in the new, open, keep-no-secrets world. Stalking left a cyber-footprint that was easy to follow. No one needs evidence of cheating spouses either, because anyone who cheats does so in full view of their spouse, neighbors, and coworkers. Penalties for stalking and voyeurism are stiff. Child abuse, s*x crimes, drug crimes, elder neglect, and a variety of social ills once hidden behind closed doors virtually vanished in the rebuilt cities. Alcoholism, addiction, and mental health problems no longer slide by unseen. Cosmetic surgery has increased five hundred fold. Sloth and gluttony have decreased. The obesity epidemic ended. It’s amazing the changes people will make if they know they are living in a terrarium.