Page 43 of The Secret
I groan internally. “No date of birth, I’m sorry.”
He purses his lips at me. “That’s unfortunate. Birth records are always a good place to start. But I can check into the register for a Dan Andrews anyway. He was from Zimbabwe?”
I swallow. “I mean … I presume so. He never talked about anywhere else.”
“Any idea of age?”
I pause, mentally running through conversations with Dan. He never said anything to me about how old he was or his birthday. He never even mentioned his star sign.
“Around twenty-seven I would guess, but he never told me directly.”
“What was his thesis about?”
I tell him the long, complicated title, and he writes it all down, checking he’s got the exact thing right.
“Any photographs?”
I show him a few on my phone, and he nods, asking me to email them to him.
“And you know nothing about his family?”
“I know his mother’s dead. That’s it.”
“Did he mention the names of anyone at all? Parents, siblings, friends …”
I shake my head. How weird does this sound? He’s looking at me as if to say, “Lady, this guy told you nothing.”
“I’m sure you must be thinking I was just a fling to him, and he didn’t want me to find him, but honestly it wasn’t like that.”
He nods politely. How many times has he heard that before? Desperation tightens my throat.
“You talked to the police you say?” he adds.
“This morning.”
“Did they check any records you’re aware of? Reported deaths?”
“No.” I blow out a long breath. “They were so unhelpful.”
“Yeah, they’re like that with members of the public. The opposite of the university. I work with them a lot: I can review arrest and death reports. If you think he hasn’t done a runner on you, that’s as good a place as any to start.”
At least he believes me, but maybe that’s his job. He’s probably being encouraging so he gets his fees. He drops his pen on the keyboard and leans forward on his elbows on his desk.
“I’ll be honest with you, there’s very little information here to go on. I’ll do what I can for you and rule out a few things, but I’m gonna be straight when I tell you the chances are not high.”
Ugh.“How high?”
“Five to ten percent chance of finding anything. The odds of you actually tracking him down?” He runs a hand over his hair and grimaces. “Lower than one percent.”
I stare at the dusty window behind him.One percent?What can I do, though? I have to try. I have a line of credit at the bank. I have friends. The thought curdles in my stomach. I’ve never crossed that line, borrowing from people I know. But I can still hear Jo’s voice echoing in my head. I’m going to be honest with him too.
“I don’t have a lot of money, but I want to do everything I can. I can pay, but I need you to keep me up to date about how much you’re spending so I can monitor it.”
He nods. “I’ll do a few hours, make some basic checks, and let’s see what we can achieve from that.”
19
LISS
