“Anything out of the ordinary. Gene stamps not tied to Thomas.”
Trevor lost his train of thought when an odd detail caught his eye. He backed up and examined the cabinetry from a different angle.
“Did anyone notice this?”
He pointed to a drawer with a malformed hand pull.
“Interesting,” he told Ramesh. “Look at the way it’s bent inward.”
“Strange. That would require some hefty force.”
Trevor opened the drawer. He saw three knives in one cubby, with a handful of forks and spoons neatly arrayed in their own. Trevor took a leap of faith and opened every cabinet and drawer. Then he reached a conclusion.
“Everything’s arranged in perfect order. I saw the same in the bedroom and water room.” Trevor took a quick look at the outer living area, which was spotless. “Odd, don’t you think?”
“How so?”
“I don’t know Thomas well. Except he’s one of these people who lives by a mantra: A place for everything, and everything in its place. I doubt he’d tolerate that hand pull. He’d have Maintenance replace it.”
Ramesh did not sound impressed.
“Perhaps you’re right, but what difference should it make?”
“Maybe none. Have your team review the kiosk log and see what if anything can be retrieved from the incinerator. It may not matter, but experience tells me you don’t rule out anything. Ramesh, search everywhere. Under, around, behind, inside.”
Ramesh nodded but responded with a skeptical tone.
“I don’t mean to question you, boss. You’re more experienced than me by light-years. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Here we go. Covering up and keeping secrets. When is it going to stop?
“Yes. I hope I’m wrong. About a lot of things. For now, I ask you to trust me.”
“It’s a given.”
“Thanks, Ramesh. Keep me apprised of anything you find.”
Outside the flat, Trevor decided to cover the other, less likely angle. He contacted Ilya Petrov in Episteme and Barukh Tasqur in Harmony. Trevor offered little background to go with his orders.
“Check in with Customs. See if Thomas Quinlan passed through in the last twelve hours. If no, follow up with the facial banks in case he passed through under different identification.”
Both were taken aback.
“That’s impossible, Trevor,” Barukh said. “Every passenger enters a gene stamp.”
“Unless there’s another way.”
He asked for their trust and checked the time. If he hurried, he might make the meeting with those ambassadors.
Trevor looked for an excuse and found one in the form of HVSA First Deputy Karl Levinson, who called after him.
“Strange business about Quinlan,” Karl said. “Must have thought you were done being a lawman.”
“That will never leave my blood. Have you been canvassing?”
“Sure enough. No sightings of Quinlan since he returned to his flat last night. But I did interview a woman who thinks he had a visitor not long after.”
“She’s sure?”
“Not for certain. They passed each other. She was headed down to visit friends. She said the man acknowledged her and continued onward. She lives two doors up from Quinlan. However, she didn’t look back. The man could have visited any of six flats.”
“Interesting. Get a good description?”
Karl nodded with enthusiasm.
“Vivid. She said he was a giant man in a beige designer suit.”
“Giant? As in?”
“Your size, Trev. A good seven feet, she said.”
Trevor didn’t need to tap into his paranoia to make this deduction.
“His face?”
“Blue eyes. He was mostly bald.”
“Tiny swathe of hair atop his scalp?”
