Part 26 (1/2)

They found a phone book in a kiosk at a gas station not far from Camilla Tilly's house. Dekker Smith's place of business was the third listing under ”Investigators” in the Yellow Pages directory.

A-1 Investigations even had an ad: Surveillance. Background Checks. Missing Persons. Civil. Criminal. Domestic.

The address was just a few blocks away.

Emma said, ”Do you think we should call first?”

”Why? To give him a chance to tell us he doesn't want to talk to us? No, I think we're better off just trying it face-to-face right up front.”

A-1 Investigations was up a dim flight of stairs over a coin laundry. The sound of spinning dryers hummed through the wall as Jonas and Emma climbed to the second floor. At the top, a narrow hall confronted them, the walls slathered with gray enamel paint so thick it gave the impression of melting. The floor was speckled green linoleum. Dekker Smith had Suite 202 , the second door on the right.

”Do we knock, or just go on in?” Emma asked when they stood before the door.

As if he knew. ”When all else fails, fake it.” He tapped his knuckles twice against the pebbled gla.s.s in the top of the door.

A man's voice called from the other side. ”It's open.”

Jonas gestured Emma in ahead of him.

They entered a large room with a desk, a row of four-drawer file cabinets and some chairs. Along one wall, Jonas spotted a copy machine and a fax machine, a water cooler and a coatrack. A computer sat on the desk. There was an inner door to the left of the desk, one that probably led to a bathroom or possibly a closet. The desk faced the entrance door, with the room's single broad window behind it, a window that fronted the street below. Sounds of traffic leached in through the window: a horn honking, a bus braking that long hydraulic squeal. Under the traffic noise, the dryers on the first floor kept up their soft and steady roar.

Beside him, Jonas heard Emma gasp. He ignored the sound. Just as, at first, he refused to look at the man who sat behind the desk.

Jonas studied the room instead, taking it all in. It was functional. A base of operations. A place to keep records and take care of whatever bookkeeping A-1 Investigations required. Personal touches were minimal. A couple of framed certificates on the wall no plants, no photos of friends and family.

The man behind the desk rose from his chair. ”I'm Dekker Smith. How can I help you?”

Jonas looked at him then, saw a man of about his own height, with dark hair much like his. A man with blue eyes and a cleft in his chin. A man who bore a powerful resemblance to himself. No wonder Camilla Tilly had asked him if they'd met before.

But more than the resemblance to himself, Jonas saw a man who was the mirror image of his father. As he shook Dekker Smith's hand, Jonas had to fight the disorienting sensation that he was reaching down three decades to clasp hands with a dead man.

Images of his father flooded his brain. Harry Bravo, laughing, swinging a very young Jonas off the floor. Harry frowning, not pleased with something Jonas had done. Harry solemn and serious, imparting some small bit of wisdom to his oldest son...

It was one coincidence too many. It was the final coincidence. The one that turned all the other coincidences inside out and revealed them for what they actually were.

Not coincidence at all. But an answer to the question that had haunted Jonas for three decades now, the question that had killed his father and helped to send his mother over the emotional edge.

Jonas knew at last what had happened to his vanished brother. Russell Bravo had survived to grow to manhood, after all. One of his kidnappers had renamed him Dekker Smith and raised him as her own.

Chapter 21.

B eside him, Emma was way too quiet.

Jonas glanced at her. She looked a little pale, but she forced a smile for him.

Dekker Smith said, ”You are...?”

He made himself speak to the man who looked so eerily like his father come back to life. ”Jonas Bravo and this is my wife, Emma.”

Emma and Dekker Smith exchanged greetings, then Dekker said, ”Have a seat.” He led them toward the desk and gestured at the two molded plastic chairs facing it.

Jonas and Emma sat. Their host went back around and reclaimed his seat behind the desk.

There was a silence, an extremely awkward one. Jonas realized he didn't have a clue where to begin. For some reason, he found himself thinking of Marsh, that first day was it only two days ago? It seemed like a year or two. Or a hundred.

Marsh, sitting in the wing chair in Jonas's office at Bravo, Incorporated, muttering, ”d.a.m.n. I can't believe it. I'm here. And now I don't know where to begin...”

At the moment, Jonas found it easy to understand exactly how Marsh must have felt.

Emma seemed equally at a loss. She sat to his left in the hard plastic chair, looking down at her hands which were folded demurely in her lap. Even her short, curve-hugging, fire-engine-red dress looked somehow subdued right then.

Dekker Smith granted them a patient smile. ”I know how it is. When you need a private detective, it's usually something serious. Something it's hard to discuss with a stranger. But the problem is, if you don't tell me what you want me to do, I can't help you much, now, can I?”

d.a.m.n. The man thought they were here to hire a detective. Apparently, he hadn't picked up on the resemblance. But then, he had no reason to be looking for one.

”This is ... a personal matter,” Jonas said.

”I understand,” said Dekker Smith. ”And you have my word. Everything you tell me will be kept strictly confidential.”

”I'm sorry. I guess I'm not making myself clear. I don't need a detective.”

Dekker Smith frowned. ”Then fill me in. What are you doing here?”

Jonas swore. ”There is just no easy way to do this.”

Dekker Smith said nothing.

So Jonas said it straight out. ”I have reason to believe that you and I are brothers.”

Dekker Smith didn't move except for his right eyebrow. It inched toward his hairline. ”I don't have a brother.”

”May I ... tell you a story?”

”I think maybe you'd better.”

* * * Jonas told it all. From the events of thirty years ago that had been public knowledge from the first, to the dream that had haunted him ever since, the dream he'd finally remembered just the night before. He told the parts of the story that Marsh had filled in for him. And also what they'd found in the ramshackle house where Blake Bravo had lived.

When he was done, another silence ensued.

At last, Dekker Smith said, ”So. Lorraine is the name of the woman you believe was your uncle's accomplice in the kidnapping of your brother the name you remember because you dreamed it.”

”That's right,” Jonas replied flatly.