"He looks a lot like him," Howie reported. "He's about the same height and weight but he's younger." Howie followed the imposter to the dining room where he dined alone. The waiter called him Mr. Bryce. Howie stayed with him through most of an uneventful meal before waking back to the present. He was elated that, in his mind, his earlier identification was affirmed. I wasn't near as satisfied. How could we prove what Howie had seen? No one had a suggestion.
"Do you think he planned the entire killing?" Betsy offered as the five of us brainstormed.
"If that's so," Martha added, "that makes whoever stayed in that hotel room an accessory to murder!"
Quinn seemed to ponder the matter. "Why would the second guy put himself at such risk? Just for money?"
My wife shook her head. "Either money or he must be very close to this Bryce guy," She turned to Howie. "Maybe they're related. You said they looked similar." She began to paw at her computer keyboard, searching.
"A brother would make the most sense, given the age difference. Maybe they're both pedophiles, helping each other." I wasn't happy we we're sneaking into police work but Howie's credibility was vital. Once it was seriously questioned, our success rate would plummet like a pricked balloon. "Can you find a filial connection on line?" I asked Betsy.
"I'm just learning my way around the internet at this level but Brennan's people could do it in a minute." She continued to type while I put in the call.
"Interesting thought," Brennan said when I'd told him our theory. "I'll see if I can check it out but it might take a while. Remember, we don't have a reason to suspect this guy's alibi; at least not any reason from the planet earth."
Now there were two problems, both stuck on hold, and out of our hands. If we thought that was the end of the glitches, we were foolishly naïve indeed. The following day, a super market tabloid offered a one million dollar reward for concrete information on the existence of the "Psychic Tipster," Howard Abbott's new nom de plume.
Texas, New Mexico and Arizona. A curse on the lot of them, especially the state of Texas where the roads never end. The cities are too large for my hunting and the towns so open a stranger stands out like neon sign on a starless night. New Mexico and Arizona are no better. Days without refreshing little company to pass the dreary miles. California. It's so nice now to be home in the sun and have time to replenish my funds and think about my future.