My phone rings. It’s Michael.
“She’s still asleep upstairs,” he begins, his voice low. “Can you fill me in on the details now?”
Where do I begin?
As I recount the story of the last forty-eight hours, he barely speaks. At the end, he says, “So, what’s happening now?”
“Haswell is in contact with the Commissioner of Police. He got me trawling the net for old newspaper accounts, reports, anything in the public record that will cast light on what went on.”
“And how’s it looking?”
“I think she’s going to be alright, but Michael, don’t say anything to her. Not yet.”
“You sound tired.”
I’m exhausted….
“I’ve been on the go now for a solid twenty-four hours. Credit where it’s due, Haswell is moving mountains, but he’s making it clear that he’s not happy with me….”
“You’ll be alright, James
