City of the Sun by David Levien Page A

or breathe.
    “I think there were two men on the scene, and they probably weren’t the only ones involved—”
    “Do you know who—” Carol nearly jumped across the table.
    “No.” He cut her off. “Look, the same assumptions we started with have gotta hold. That there won’t be any more information, much less good news.” She nodded at him. “I have a lead. A name I can at least ask—”
    “Who is it?”
    “I’ll tell you more as I find it.” A stony silence settled. Paul’s appetizer salad arrived, small and wilted, drowned in red dressing.
    “How will you go about … ?” Carol’s words petered out as she realized she wasn’t about to get a primer in investigation.
    “
Yo u
wanted this meeting, folks. I didn’t think it was called for, but it was your decision.” Behr bristled, not liking their pressure.
    Carol blinked, her only movement. The sounds of Curley’s, filling up around them, hummed for a moment.
    Paul’s heart had been thudding since he walked into the restaurant and saw Behr sitting there, put out at having to take the time to update them. He was too busy working to kiss their asses. That was clear from the look on his face and the way he was dressed. When Behr went on and told them what he’d learned, it confirmed the cold, slimy knowing deep within him. When Behr spoke the name of the street where he believed it had happened, Paul recognized that his life had changed — his worst fear had come to pass. There was nothing else the world could do to him.
    “I …” Paul began, the word catching in his throat, “I want to be involved. To work with you on the case.” Carol, eyes wide, looked to him, truly surprised. Paul sounded so set on the idea that for a moment she actually wondered at the outcome.
    “No,” Behr said. The finality of the answer stole Paul’s breath. It seemed that Behr tried to think of something to add, to soften his answer, or at least to make clear the many whys for it. “No,” he said again.
    “What do you mean no?” Paul asked. “We’re the ones who—”
    “You hired me to do what I do. That doesn’t include you or anyone else coming along.”
    “I just want to know I’m doing everything
I
can to help find out what happened to Jamie,” the father went on.
    “Don’t. Don’t push this course, Paul. It won’t lead you anywhere good. You can fire me if you want, but—”
    “No.” It was Carol’s first word in some time.
    “He was our son.
My
son,” Paul continued. “How would you feel?”
    Behr banged his palms flat on the table, causing silverware to jump and rattle. Paul’s salad bowl capsized and the restaurant went silent for a moment. Behr felt his pulse throb in his neck. He fought for control and for air.
My
son. Tim’s face had flashed through Behr’s mind’s eye when he heard those words. This used to happen every minute of every day back when it was fresh. It had happened less and less over time, but rather than decreasing in power, Behr was merely left less resistant when it did come. He shook his head hoping to physically knock the image out of it. He looked across the table at Paul and saw a broken, haunted aspect in the man’s eyes. Behr knew it well. He wondered if his own eyes featured it at the moment.
    Behr considered the place on the continuum of civilized behavior that Paul occupied. No matter how raw he’d lived when he was young, he’d raised his son for over a decade. He’d experienced the softening and respect for life that children bring. Such things did not afflict Behr. Since Tim had been gone he’d been moving steadily the other way. Finally he felt he could speak again.
    “If this leads anywhere, it’ll be to a horrible place. And you’re not prepared for it.”
    “I’m not a cop, but what I’ve been through …” Paul said, running out of whatever propellant had gotten him this far in the discussion. “And you … you’re … You seem like …” he finished, tapping out