Chapter 2

Don felt both in his element, and on completely foreign ground.

Yes, he was using investigative techniques that he had practiced for so long that they were no longer second-nature to him — they were first-nature.

On the other hand, he was using them on his own brother. Not because — God forbid — he was a suspect, but because Don was afraid he didn't even know him.

He waited for Larry to answer his phone. Spring Break had ended yesterday. Maybe he was in a class right now. Don checked his watch. 10:15 a.m. Was Charlie in class right now? He had to admit, he didn't know.

"Yes. Dr. Fleinhardt."

Don straightened a little in his chair. "Larry, Don. You sound a little flustered."

The voice relaxed a little. "Oh, good morning, Don! Yes, I'm afraid I misplaced my notes, and class begins in 15 minutes. What can I do for you this morning?"

Don hesitated. "Look, it sounds like you're busy…"

"Oh. How on earth could I have missed that? Here they are, exactly where they should be. I really should have used Spring Break to clean my desk off…" Larry sighed happily. "There. You see, Don, now I have time to listen more attentively. Please, continue."

"Larry, do you remember when Charlie published that book?"

The professor sounded distracted again. "Um, yes … I'm sorry. Which one?"

Don's mouth dropped open. There had been more than one? "The…the…a year, year-and-a-half ago? He was honored at a faculty dinner."

"Of course. Lost Generation. A truly phenomenal work. Charles is often regarded as a reformist himself, and his depth of understanding of the consequences of the 'Math Wars' between traditionalists and reformists, his proposed solutions…well it was quite remarkable, really."

Don had never even heard of Math Wars. Once, when Charlie's old nemesis from Princeton had shown up at Cal Sci for a seminar and started hitting on Amita, Colby and David had witnessed what they called a "Math Fight"…but he didn't think that's what Larry was talking about. "Right. That book. Was there a…a program, or anything, at the dinner? Biographical information?"

"That's right, neither you nor Alan could attend. Such a shame. I don't believe there was…wait. The student newspaper had a story after the dinner. I believe it may have contained biographical…" Larry's voice trailed off, then returned. "Don, are you investigating Charlie?"

Don tried to laugh. "Of course not. I was in the field all weekend with two new cases. I don't have time to investigate Charlie. Like you said, I didn't get to go to the dinner…"

"That was 18 months ago, Don."

Don shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I…got busy. Something just reminded me of it, that's all."

"I see." Larry's voice, which had seemed infinitely kind there for a second, suddenly became frantic. "Oh, dear. I really must leave. My next class is in another building."

"Sure, Larry. Thanks…"

"Don, try the Cal Sci library. They archive all issues of the student newspaper."

"Yeah. I'll do that. Good idea." Don hurried before Larry hung up. "And Larry? Don't mention this to Charlie, okay?"

Silence, finally a confused "Of course, if that's what you want…"

Don nodded, even though Larry couldn't see him. "It is."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Half an hour later, Don, on an early lunch hour, searched the student newspaper archive for the last two years until he found the story. He settled in a secluded study room and took his notebook and pen out of his pocket and started to read.

He skimmed rapidly over the early stuff, national and international competitions and awards dating back to Charlie's days as a student. His eyes lit on 1995. Another book: Arranged Marriage. Applied Mathematics, Mathematical Biology and the Study of Population Dynamics. Don closed his eyes and thought. 1995. He was working in Albuquerque, then. His mother was still healthy. Surely she would have told him…hell, she would have mailed him the book. When he had left, to come back to L.A., he had come back clean, to get to his mother as soon as possible; and — if he was being honest — he wanted a fresh start, after Kim. So he had reduced himself to a few boxes of clothes and treasures, and told Kim to sell the rest. He didn't remember bringing back any books.

He shook his head to clear it of the unwelcome vision of someone paying a quarter for Charlie's book at a yard sale, and opened his eyes again, looked back at the story. In 1999, Charlie had won something called the Paul Erdos National Award, from some World Federation. In 2002, he was a finalist for the prestigious Fields Medal, awarded by the International Mathematical Union. Even Don had heard of the Fields Medal, and he remembered this one.

He remembered it because Charlie didn't actually win. Charlie always won stuff like that, so the fact that he didn't stuck with Don, even though Charlie had seemed pretty happy to have been named a finalist. Don remembered thinking that maybe the genius finally had some competition, now that he was an adult.

He shifted in the chair. He didn't much like what he was learning, here. Not the stuff he was learning about Charlie — the things he was learning about himself. He refocused his attention, again.

During the summer of 2003 Charlie had served on the faculty at the International Mathematics Olympiad in Japan. Don remembered the trip to Japan — their Mom had only been gone a few months, and he had thought it a little self-centered of Charlie to leave Dad, right then — he'd thought it was a vacation. He didn't recall hearing that Charlie's trip had a business aspect.

Didn't remember asking, either. He had still been pretty angry about the whole "P vs NP" thing, back then.

The story was written during the 2003-2004 school year, so there wasn't anything newer than that. It did list the several mathematics societies and councils of which Charlie was a member. Then Don got really surprised. Everything so far had been about Charlie's work, but it turned out he was also a disaster relief volunteer with the Los Angeles County chapter of the American Red Cross. Plus, he had trained as a literacy volunteer at the Los Angeles Public Library, but at the time of the story, was "having some difficulty finding the time to actually do it. I'm hoping to start a tutoring relationship there this summer," Charlie had said.

Don pushed the newspaper away, leaned back in the chair and tried to think objectively, as if he and Charlie were just another mystery to solve.

There were times when his Dad complained about Charlie's schedule. Sometimes when Don came over with data for a case, Alan would mention that Charlie was busy enough as it was. But it was usually a good-natured grumble. He knew Charlie would never not help Don, when he asked.

Of course, there had also been times when Charlie had tried to tell him things. Finals week. Article and project deadlines. Had he ever cut Charlie some slack during those times, taken a case away from him? He winced. More likely, he had bullied him into continuing. In fact, now that he thought about it…just last year, he had stopped by Charlie's office to encourage him to work a little faster on something he wanted. God, he couldn't even remember the case, now. Anyway, Charlie had been sitting on the couch grading papers, and had tried to tell him something…Larry had come in the open door, asked if he could "pick Charlie's brain" for a moment. Charlie had smiled and said, "You're welcome to whatever scraps my brother leaves behind." At the time, Don had thought it was a pretty witty comeback, and laughed.

Now, looking at his notes, remembering the look on Charlie's face last week…now he wondered if Charlie was trying to be funny at all.

He slowly pushed back the chair and stood. He looked at his watch. He needed to get back to the office. No time to stop for lunch anywhere.

Just as well.

He wasn't very hungry, anyway.