Dark Places

10. Connection Established

First of all I went to lonelyplanet.com and dug out their list of offices and phone numbers. It was a pleasant surprise that their web site was hosted and run from Oakland, just across the San Francisco Bay from me. But it made sense. The Bay Area was the center of all the world's web traffic. I'd heard estimates that forty per cent of the data on the Internet was routed through the region.
   I needed Lonely Planet's help, so I called their Oakland office and asked for their web editor. I told her secretary that I was investigating a story. I wish I could say that when she answered I felt some frisson of significance, a feeling in the pit of my stomach, but the truth is I just felt sexist surprise that their web editor was a woman.
   "Talena Radovich," she said, brisk but friendly. "What can I do for you?"
   "Hi. My name is Balthazar Wood," I said. I had come to realize over the years that a twenty-dollar name subconsciously impresses people in official situations. I knew it was going to be tough to convince them and every arrow in my quiver would help. "I'm working on what you might call a complicated investigation and I'm calling to ask for your help."
   "And who do you work for?"
   "I'm not really working for anyone," I admitted.
   "Julia said you were a journalist… ?"
   "In a sense. A story of some kind will probably come out of this. But there's a lot more to it than that."
   There was a pause and then she said, with a hint of suspicion, "Maybe you should tell me what you're talking about."
   "Yeah," I said. "But I warn you, it's pretty complicated and probably pretty hard to believe. Do you have some time right now, or do you want to talk later?"
   "I have some time right now."
   "All right," I said. "Here goes. Here's the nutshell version. When I'm finished with it you're probably going to think I'm completely crazy, but please bear with me and let me fill in the blanks, okay?"
   "Okay," she said. She sounded curious. That was good.
   "All right. Two weeks ago I was in Nepal, on the Annapurna Circuit, and I found the body of a dead man. Not just dead, but murdered."
   "Murder on the Annapurna Circuit," she said when I paused for breath. I thought she might have a slight accent but I couldn't be sure. "The Thorn Tree article."
   "That's right, I wrote that," I said gratefully. It made it much easier that she had read and remembered what I had already written. "What I didn't write there was that two years ago, in Africa, a friend of mine was murdered in the same way. There's boxed text on The Bull in your Africa South book, I don't know if you've read that —"
   "I wrote it," she said.
   "It says that — you what?"
   "I was one of the researchers for that edition, I wrote the section on The Bull."
   "Oh," I said. "I thought you were the web editor."
   "Most of us spend a few months every year on the road doing research and updates."
   "Oh. Wow. Sounds like a pretty good job."
   "Beats working. Where exactly are you going with this?" she asked.
   "I'm going to the part where I sound like a crazy conspiracy freak," I said. "I've been doing a bunch of research and I've got a whole pile of evidence which is totally circumstantial but which makes me believe, basically, that The Bull is real, that he killed my friend Laura in Africa, and he killed this guy in Nepal, and he's still out there."
   "Oh," she said. "Okay, yeah, that's pretty freaky all right. Why are you calling me?"
   "Because I think one of the responses to what I wrote might have been actually written by the guy. And I happen to be something of an expert on Internet software, and I'd like you to let me look through your server logs so I can maybe track down where he is."
   "Um… Mister… "
   "Wood. Balthazar Wood."
   "Mister Wood, shouldn't you be calling the FBI or something? What we do, you know, what we do is we publish travel guidebooks, and investigating serial killers, that isn't exactly our strong suit, you know? And… this is the weirdest phone call I've had in a long time."
   "Sorry about that."
   "So why aren't you calling the FBI and getting them to subpoena us?"
   "The FBI only investigates crimes on American soil," I said.
   "Oh, yeah. They said that on X-Files last night."
   "Also I don't think any Americans have been victims yet."
   "But, come on, there's got to be somebody official you can call. At least somebody other than me."
   "If you've got any ideas I'd love to hear them," I said.
   There was a long pause.
   "Okay," she said eventually, "this is totally nuts. First of all, mister crazy conspiracy freak, I want to meet you face to face, and it's gonna be in a crowded public place because no offense but this whole subject as you might imagine kinda totally freaks me out, and you're going to bring me this huge pile of evidence you say that you've got. Then, in the unlikely event I don't think you're just some sort of maladjusted psycho ward case, then I'll go to the folks here and we'll talk things over. And I'm telling you now I'm pretty sure they'll say no. But if you're convincing enough I'll at least talk to them."
   "Thanks," I said. "Thank you. That's what I was hoping for."
   "Where do you want to meet?"
   I thought it over. "I don't really know Oakland… is San Francisco okay?"
   "That's where I live," she said.
   "Okay. Do you know where the Horseshoe Cafe is?"
   "Lower Haight?"
   "That's right. When is good for you? Sooner the better for me."
   "Tonight at eight," she said. It wasn't a question. "I'm five foot ten and I have a nose ring and purple streaks in my hair."
   "It's the Lower Haight," I pointed out. "You may have to narrow it down a little further than that."
   She had a good laugh, low and throaty. "I'll be wearing black, does that help?"
   "Enormously," I said. "I'll be the old guy with a serious beard and huge folder of old newspaper clippings and no sense of personal hygiene, sweating and twitching nervously in the corner with my back to the wall."
   "The man of my dreams at last."
   "Seriously, I'll be wearing… hum… you know what? I'll have a beat-up copy of Trekking In The Nepal Himalaya with me."
   "Sounds good. See you at eight."
   "All right. Bye."