Ockham's Razor: A Deductive Riddle

Chapter 7

Ian settled into bed, ready for a good sleep. He consigned himself to the fact that he lost Kate's phone number. Realising that he could see her anytime he chose just by getting to UGP, he started feeling less annoyed with himself. He was coming down off his beer high. He needed some water and sleep, in that order. Getting out of bed, he made his way to the kitchen.

He opened the cupboard and fetched a large plastic glass. He turned on the sink and let the water run for a moment. This was a habit as the water tended to run a bit rusty first thing in the morning, so every time he turned on the tap, he let the water run to clear out the rust. The splashing was a soothing lullaby. The air was cool and seemed fresh blowing up from the sink. After a moment, he filled his glass with water and drank it down in one go. The water felt good on his throat. He might be coming down with something.

As he finished, he thought he heard a bang on the front door to his apartment. From the kitchen area, he did not have direct viewing access to the door. He called out to see if Dave had returned. Dave never knocked; he just entered when he arrived. But this sounded like a knock of sorts.

Not really concerned for safety or security, Ian made his way to the door to his apartment. He opened it up, and looked left and right down the hall. The hall was completely empty. Ian held his pose for a second hoping to hear something. He knew that sometimes he could sense things that were not overtly tactile, audible or visible. There had definitely been a knock, but no one was around. He could easily pass that off as some kid running the corridor getting his thrills by knocking on the doors of various apartments. Did he smell a hint of perfume?

Just before he closed the door, he looked down onto the floor of the corridor. There was a white envelope laying there. The envelope looked like someone had attempted to shove it under his door, but because of the layers of carpet upon carpet in the apartment; the space beneath the door was not wide enough to fit a cat's whisker.

Ian bent down to pick up the envelope. It was thick and had some weight. It definitely contained something. Ian did one last look up and down the hallway to see if someone was going to come looking for a dropped envelope. When no one came, he returned to his apartment. His curiosity was really burning him.

At the kitchen table, he turned on a light and laid the envelope on the table. He was consumed by interest at what could be inside, at the same time he did not want to break the seal on the envelope, in case it was not for him.

A quick assessment provided him two options. Either the envelope was accidentally dropped just outside his door as someone walked by. Or someone tried to shove a thick envelope under his door. Ockham's Razor dictated that the simplest solution was that someone tried to shove it under his door. Nothing in his entire existence told him that anyone carried anything in a plain envelope.

He decided that he would hold plausible deniability in opening the envelope, as there was not a single mark on it to identify to whom the envelope was to be delivered.

He reached under the lip of the envelope flap and gave a pull with his finger. The white paper was unusually strong. It was a quality envelope. The paper ripped clean and Ian peered inside. It looked like there was a note wrapped around some money. Oh well, it looked like he had found someone's rent payment with an explanation note as to why it was late. He would find out who the tenant was and drop off the envelope to them right away. Then he could get some sleep at least knowing that he had helped out someone, despite having lost Kate's phone number.

He dumped out the contents of the envelope on the table. The note was stapled shut around the money. Ian did not want to rip out the staples on the note, so he settled on separating the the note from the money. He put everything onto the table and grabbed the paper to see if he could read through the paper by holding it up to the light. The contents slid easily from the note onto the table. There was a bundle of bills, quite a big bundle as a matter of fact, what appeared to be a plane reservation, and the note. The note was written on quality paper, so seeing through it was going to be difficult. The light in the kitchen was not bright enough to penetrate the paper with enough power to shine through the letters and through another part of the sheet. Oh well, he would have to open the letter.

As he was getting ready to rip open the letter, his eyes fell upon the money and plane reservation. It dawned upon him. The plane reservation will have a name. He could figure it out from there. He grabbed the plane reservation, opened up the cover and stared at the name. It was written in that annoying small font. The letters in red were not the thing that surprised him. It was the name on the reservation: Mr. Ian Goel.

The reservation was for him.

After ten seconds, he realised he had been holding his breath. He took five more seconds to let it sink in. He was supposed to fly on a plane. He looked at the date of the reservation. He was to fly to, looking at the reservation and seeing the destination, Chicago, in three days time. Nothing made sense. Ian had about 500 questions running through his head trying to figure this out.

Hoping to find some answers, he ripped open the letter. It read:

"Mr. Goel,

Allow me to offer a brief introduction to myself. I am your Benefactor. I have selected you to help me out. By helping me out, you will have demonstrated loyalty to the cause to which I call you. By being loyal, you will have earned my loyalty. By helping me out, I shall be able to help you out.

You will find, attached to this note, a plane reservation and one thousand dollars. The money is yours, no questions asked. The plane ticket is for you to fly to Chicago to attend a meeting with me, to listen to a proposition for a job I have for you. By being on that plane, you will be entitled to another four thousand dollars. By accepting the proposition in Chicago, an acceptable level of compensation can be negotiated thereafter.

You need not fear any legal repercussions for what I am asking you to do. I am neither a drug dealer, nor smuggler. We shall be working on an endeavour that will see the security of the local government for the next generation.

I do sincerely wish to see you in Chicago in three days time.

Yours truly,

The Benefactor"

Ian was thrilled but spooked. Who, in their right mind, would offer a complete stranger five thousand dollars for merely attending a job interview? He knew it could not be someone he knew, because no one with whom he was acquainted had money to spare on a plane ticket to Chicago and one thousand dollars in cash.

He was in a quandary. What to do? He wanted to get to see Kate again, but now he was to fly to Chicago. He had never been there, and that unnerved him. However, he could earn five thousand dollars for attending a job interview. This was big money for a relatively simple task, which, by the sounds of it, he could walk away from it at any time. Five thousand dollars would go a considerable distance in wiping out some of the accrued debt he had that had gone to collections.

Ian was tempted to assess the circumstances into which he was going. But he decided to pass. Ockham's Razor would not provide him any comfort. He would not look this gift horse in the mouth.

Regretting the fact that Kate will have to wait, he started packing his bag to fly to Chicago.