Necessity by Brian Garfield

Isn’t that remarkable? You mind me talking this way?”
    It sounded like a variant of the archaic “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before” gambit but she didn’t think that was it. He was a feisty little rat but she was sure he was too sly to risk insulting Mrs. Albert LaCasse.
    She presented to him another of her cool smiles, one calculated to remind him of his station relative to hers. She said, “I’m sure it wasn’t me you saw. I don’t gamble.”
    â€œYou must have a twin sister then.”
    â€œNo. Just coincidence, I suppose—like my being in this building today.”
    â€œMust be,” he agreed. “Hard to believe there’s two like you walking around. You’re a real good-looking woman, Mrs. LaCasse. I hope you don’t mind me saying so. Your husband’s a real fortunate man.”
    â€œNice of you to say so. I suppose in your business you must come across quite a few cases of unusual resemblances. Mistaken identity.”
    â€œOh sure. Nothing less reliable than an eyewitness. Look how I just mistook you for someone else. Happens all the time.”
    â€œThat must make it fun when you’re trying to find someone who’s disappeared.”
    â€œWell—sometimes that’s a fact, yes ma’am. In fact I recall a case …”
    She heard him out—a rambling tale—and when he beamed so she could appreciate the punch line she said, “I like to read detective stories but I gather there isn’t much truth in them. Tell me something—I’m fascinated by what you do—suppose someone, oh, let’s say a woman like me. Suppose I disappeared one day without a trace. How would you go about looking for me? What do you call it again—skip-tracing?”
    â€œYes ma’am.”
    He gave her a smile that tried to curry favor. “That would depend on whether you disappeared on purpose. Some people meet with accidents or foul play. That’s a different matter. When a person disappears, first thing you do is normally check all the hospitals, emergency services, friends and relatives of the subject, business associates. Thing is, is that you’d be surprised how many people go away on a business trip—something just came up, you know, spur of the moment—and maybe they forget to tell the wife about it. Half the time you just ask the guy’s secretary, she knows exactly where he is, what hotel he’s staying in, all that stuff. Case closed. See, the first thing you do is just ask sensible questions.”
    â€œOf course,” she said, “but let’s suppose someone has deliberately disappeared. Say you’re looking for a woman who’s married to a drunk or something. Say he beats her all the time and she’s just got to get away from him—far away, where he’ll never find her again. And say the husband hires you to bring her back. How do you find her?”
    She knew people tended to be flattered when you asked them about what they did. She’d learned that in a previous life. And it proved easy to draw him out. He sat back and lit a small cigar—it didn’t occur to him to ask if she minded—and said, “Well, first you’d go back to the public records. You find out where she was born, the family background, where she went to school. You check out voting registration, driver’s license, credit files. All this is perfectly legal, you understand. Public records are open to the public. Anyway you build up this jacket on the subject—that’s a fact file. Have you got time, Mrs. LaCasse?”
    â€œI have a luncheon appointment but I can be a little late. Go on. I’m intrigued.”
    â€œLet’s see. Okay, you check with the subject’s doctor and dentist. Family and friends. Chances are some of them have heard from the subject. People have to have their medical records forwarded—for insurance applications or