"My name is Tracy Payne. I'm an editor at the Boston Observer. And this is Tim Garner. We need to speak to Ashlyn O'Laighin as a matter of urgency."
Nanette Buchanan, Ashlyn's good friend, who had poached her from the district attorney's office when she opened her own small firm, eyed the unlikely couple. Those standing in front of her in the reception area couldn't really make heads or tails of the two of them. They didn't go together at all. On the one hand, the young, self-confident, and energetic-looking woman, who, judging by her appearance in the main auditorium of a college, Buchanan couldn't imagine her at the traditional editorial building of the Boston Observer, and on the other hand, the inconspicuous man who seemed somehow out of place to her. But he looks out of place anywhere. He stood there with slumped shoulders and clothes that were a little too big, fumbling nervously. He looked out of place. His outfit didn't suit him. But that wasn't what Nanette Buchanan noticed about him. It was the look in his eyes. Whoever this Garner was, she thought, he must have experienced or seen something that had left a lasting impression on him.
But Buchanan was professional enough not to let her assessment show. Instead, she answered in a friendly but firm manner. "Hello, Ms. Payne, hello, Mr. Garner. What can I do for you?"
"We urgently need help," the young journalist replied in a tone that sounded more like an order than a request.
Buchanan, who had great sympathy for people in distress but certainly didn't let clients push her around, raised her eyebrows and looked Payne directly in the eye with a look that unmistakably conveyed the message: Not like this, my dear.
In fact, the look didn't fail to have the desired effect, and the overly self-confident expression on Payne's face disappeared, giving way to much milder, almost pleading features. "I think, no, we think," she said, looking at Garner, "that something bad has happened." She paused and seemed to be carefully choosing the right words for her following sentence: "Mr. Garner's friend has disappeared."
Buchanan looked doubtfully at the two of them. "Don't you think the police could help you better? Or perhaps relatives or friends of Mr. Garner?"
"No, we don't think so," Payne replied. 'There's more at stake here than just the missing friend. And we don't want to go to the police for now.' She paused, apparently searching for the right words. "Let's just say that Mr. Garner has had bad experiences. Besides, that's not the point. What Mr. Garner needs is legal support. Justin Booker, his missing friend, probably too."
"Have you contacted Mr. Booker's relatives and friends and asked if they know anything?" Nanette Buchanan asked, more to get a picture of the situation and to hear what else was behind the story than to get a revealing answer.
"He has no relatives, at least none that we know. Mr. Garner is also his only friend.
Nanette Buchanan made a brief note. "How did you come to our firm?"
"Through the case of Nicholas Brandt. A colleague of mine, Tommy Graham, had reported on the case. And Mr. Garner is also an unusual story." Tracy Payne shrugged. "Tommy is a court reporter with us today, and I asked him if he had any ideas. He said I should talk to a lawyer before I go to the police. He thinks Ashlyn O'Laighin is the best. No more, no less."
Nanette Buchanan thought about this for a moment. The firm had been doing well since it opened and didn't need to take on every case. That wouldn't have been possible anyway because Ashlyn was the only lawyer in the firm. But something about the unlikely pair prevented her from sending them away immediately. Without further ado, she decided to give them a chance. Let her boss, Ashlyn, decide for herself whether or not to take on the case.
xxx
Fascinated, Ashlyn looked at the man and the young woman sitting on the opposite side of her desk.
What an unusual couple, she thought, and she was curious to find out what had brought them to her office.
"Mrs. Buchanan has already told me a bit. However, I'm not sure if I can help you. I suggest you tell me the story from the beginning. And then we'll see." Ashlyn looked back and forth between Tracy Payne and Tim Garner.
Garner clung to the armrests of the light-colored leather chair with both hands. He kept his eyes on the floor.
He's not sure if he should really tell everything, thought Ashlyn, smiling encouragingly at Garner but remaining silent herself. She knew she couldn't force Garner's testimony. On the contrary, one wrong word could dissuade him from saying anything.
Garner closed his eyes and clenched his hands. When he opened them again, however, he remained silent.
After what felt like an eternity, Payne broke the silence. "Tim Garner and Justin Booker were supposed to give an interview to the Boston Observer," she explained. "The two are victims and witnesses of a crime that has not yet been solved. A scandal that reaches far up into Boston politics."
"But you're here mainly because Justin Booker has disappeared, aren't you?" Ashlyn asked with a slightly furrowed brow.
"Yes," Payne replied. 'But that's not all. The fact that it could come to this at all, with Mr. Garner and Mr. Booker, is based on a great injustice."
Ashlyn raised her eyebrows. 'What do you mean?"
"It's simple. Both of them were victims of a child abuse scandal in their childhood. And the frightening thing is that the whole thing, this crime in the past, was no usual abuse. None of the cases that we are all unfortunately only too familiar with. No destroyed family history. The whole thing was planned."
"Planned?"
"Indeed. Right here in Boston. Right among us. By government agencies that were actually supposed to protect children." Payne was now sitting on the edge of her chair. Her eyes sparkled with anger. "And that, Ms. O'Laighin, without one of those responsible having been held accountable to this day.
Ashlyn was confused. She needed to find out where the editor was going with this. "What exactly do you mean?"
In a strained voice, Tracy Payne replied, "Have you ever heard of the Granther Experiment?"
Ashlyn pulled the corners of her mouth down and shrugged. "No, I haven't. What is it?" she asked, watching Garner slump further into his chair. For the next ten minutes, as Ashlyn listened intently to Payne's account, she couldn't believe what had happened to Boston children in state custody as recently as twenty years ago. When Tracy Payne finished, Ashlyn took the description of Justin Booker.
"I think he's about 6'2"," Garner said in a low, almost whispered voice, making it difficult for Ashlyn to understand the insecure man. "Medium-length black hair and more slender than heavy."
Ashlyn noted the details and then asked further questions to complete the picture of the missing man. "Do you remember what your friend was last wearing?"
"His dark jacket, I guess. He always wore it, actually. And jeans."
Ashlyn felt her hopes fading. She knew it would be challenging to find Booker based on his appearance. The description Garner gave fit tens of thousands of men in Boston alone. "Did he have any distinguishing marks? A tattoo, maybe, or anything else that could be used to recognize him? Or do you have a picture of Mr. Booker you could provide?"
Garner seemed to be thinking hard but then shook his head.
"Okay," the lawyer said. 'I think I have enough information for now. I'll see what I can do for you. If you hear anything, please get back to me immediately.' Ashlyn handed them both a business card across the desk. 'It's best to call; it's the quickest way.'
Payne nodded and glanced briefly at the business card before putting it in her red summer jacket pocket. A moment later, she and Garner had disappeared out of Ashlyn's office.
xxx
Like every year, crowds of visitors thronged the harbor promenade again this summer, celebrating the traditional harbor festival in glorious Indian summer weather. While some of the visitors enjoyed the culinary delights on offer, others stood in front of a stage or simply enjoyed the view.
Marcus Cantu soaked up the atmosphere with a satisfied smile and let his gaze wander over the crowd. In less than five minutes, all the attention would be on him. He loved the election campaign and making a big entrance in front of an audience. And it looked like the people of Boston loved him. Full of satisfaction, he folded up the latest edition of the Boston Observer and placed it on the small staircase leading to the stage. The upcoming elections were the topic on the front page. And the current numbers spoke for themselves.
Cantu was simply popular with the people of Boston. Almost 6'2" tall, with full, silver hair, and always dressed in tailored suits, he would have passed for the hero of a Hollywood production. He was also a devoted family man. Two weeks ago, he had become a grandfather for the second time, and even though he tried to keep his private life out of the public eye, a few private snapshots had made it onto the front pages of the Boston tabloids. They had referred to him and his family as 'the Kennedys of Boston'. They were right because his son Andrew had also recently announced that he wanted to follow his father into politics after graduating.
However, he received the most significant support for his political work. In the past five years, during which he served as Senator for Internal Affairs, he had devoted himself primarily to the fight against crime. The results were impressive. The number of recorded crimes had fallen by almost ten percent. During the same period, Cantu succeeded in increasing the crime clearance rate. All in all, an impeccable record of achievement. Despite the city's chronically inadequate budgetary resources, he had also obtained a disproportionate amount of funding for the Boston police, which had earned him the sympathy of the cops.
Cantus's secretary of state, who accompanied him at most of his appearances, patted him on the shoulder. It was time to face the voters. Not two minutes later, after a short introduction by one of the organizer's staff, Cantu was on the main stage and immediately captivated the audience. As with the previous events, they hung on to his every word. Cantu was a natural orator and had the crowd in his hand. He gave them what they wanted, and the Boston crowd again rewarded him with plenty of applause today. With great satisfaction, Cantu let his gaze wander, giving every visitor the feeling that he was looking at them. An old trick from the box of practiced speakers that always succeeded in having an effect. But suddenly, Cantu winced. That couldn't be! He looked tense but, at the same time, tried not to show it into the middle of the large crowd that had gathered in front of the stage.
He was sure he had just seen someone. A man he knew only too well. And who shouldn't be there at all.
xxx
"I don't believe it!" Jalen Simms shouted angrily, scrubbing the grill with such force that the steel began to bend. Ashlyn had asked her cousin to come over that evening, and he had been looking forward to it. It had been far too long since he had met with Ashlyn privately, and he had even brought a few steaks and a bottle of red wine. Barbecuing on Ashlyn's roof terrace was always good. Despite the apartment's central location in the middle of Boston, it rose about a floor above the roofs of the neighboring houses towards the courtyard. A small oasis, hidden from view and completely quiet.
"Granther is the guy's name?" Jalen wheezed, throwing the wire brush on the floor and wiping the sweat from his brow. The heat had the city firmly in its grip, and despite the early evening hour, it was more than just hot in the setting sun. The warm air stood over the rooftops of Boston as if under a bell.
"His name was," Ashlyn replied, pouring two glasses of chilled rosé. 'He died fourteen years ago.' She added dryly, 'Not a great loss to humanity if you ask me.' As was almost always when she wasn't working, the blonde wore beige chinos and a dark blue T-shirt. The heat didn't seem to bother her at all.
"What on earth was that guy thinking?" Jalen continued, taking a glass from his cousin.
"Nothing good, that's for sure," said Ashlyn, taking a sip from her glass and raising her eyebrows briefly. "Granther had advocated for children and teenagers who had come to the attention of the police to be placed in the care of pedophile men through the mediation of the youth welfare office. He justified it by saying that it was always better than living in their families, where they were beaten. Or on the streets, where they took drugs or, in the worst case, were exposed to prostitution. Shockingly, he accepted from the outset that the children would be abused."
"That's completely perverse! Out of the frying pan into the fire. In the most absurd way possible. The abuse was inevitable!" Jalen couldn't believe what Ashlyn had told him in the last thirty minutes about Garner and Payne's visit to their office.
Ashlyn took a big gulp and then looked at her cousin seriously. "You're absolutely right, Jalen. A person who has destroyed countless lives. And just because he's dead doesn't mean the matter is closed." She put down her glass and leaned against the wall next to Jalen.
Jalen frowned a little. "So what do we do now?"
"I don't know exactly either. Strange case. I'm not even sure if I should continue at all. I mean, the abuse and this Granther thing is bad enough. But first of all, this is actually about finding Garner's friend. And that's not exactly my area of expertise. Actually, this is more the job of the BPD."
"Well, I think we both know what the outcome will be. The BPD is so overburdened that it can barely keep up with the investigation of crimes where there is concrete evidence of a crime. And as long as it's unclear whether Booker has disappeared, is just on vacation a little longer, or has gone underground for whatever reason, they won't do anything."
Ashlyn took a deep breath and seemed to see it similarly. "If I don't take care of the case, it's probably the end of it for now. And I'm really not sure I should do this. I'm a defense attorney, not a missing persons agency. I don't have the time for this, the apparatus, or the expertise."
"But you knew that before. Then why did you accept the mandate at all?" Jalen asked with a smile, already knowing what his cousin would answer.
"Because the whole thing stinks. And it can't be that no one is helping Tim Garner."
"I agree," the PI replied. "And what do we do with that now?"
Ashlyn thought for a moment. "First of all, we need to find Booker," she said. "Because he's been missing for a few days."
"What do you think is going on?" asked Jalen. 'Is he just gone for a while, or is there something more going on?'
Ashlyn took a deep breath and shrugged. "I don't know, Jalen." She reached for another drink but realized her glass was empty. She looked around and grabbed the wine bottle from the teak patio table. "I'm not a big believer in conspiracy theories, but anything from 'he'll turn up tomorrow' to 'this is all connected to the Boston Observer's planned interview and someone wants to make him disappear' is possible, right?"
"You're right," Jalen replied, "anything is possible. Assumptions without a basis have rarely led to the goal. Whatever's behind this, once we start turning over a few stones, we're sure to find something under one or the other."
Ashlyn smiled wryly. "Like every time, right?"
Now, Jalen had to grin. "Like every time."
"Okay," Ashlyn said, "then let's divide the work. You look for Booker through your sources, and I'll talk to the journalist again. Maybe she has another piece of information that will help us."