Trust Your Eyes by Linwood Barclay Page A

inquest. I wrote a short follow-up piece but it didn’t have any surprises so it never even made the paper. I know, when it’s something that happens to you, it’s a big deal, the details matter. But for the Standard , it was a one-day story, and only about two inches at that. It kind of jumped out at me on the day’s police logs because I knew who Adam Kilbride was, that he was Thomas’s and your dad.”
    “I shouldn’t have troubled you with this.”
    “It’s okay,” Julie said. “These things, I mean, you know, they’re hard. Look, is there anything I can do for you, for Thomas?”
    “No, it’s—yeah, I mean, drop in sometime. I know Thomaswould be happy to see you. He’s—I guess you know he’s kind of different.”
    “He always was,” Julie said.
    “I think now he’s even more so,” I said.
    Julie smiled. “He always had this thing about maps. He still into those?”
    “Yes.”
    I worked on my Corona. Julie had nearly finished hers. “You were a bit weird yourself, you know. Always drawing things. You weren’t exactly a jock.”
    “I threw the javelin,” I said defensively. It was true. It was about the only sport, if it can be called that, I ever went out for. And I was damn good at it. That, and playing darts in our basement rec room.
    “The javelin,” Julie said. “Really. One of the big full-body-contact events. I see the drawing thing paid off for you, though. Your illustrations made the L.A. Times every now and then. They’re good.”
    “Thanks.”
    “You get married along the way?”
    “No. Came close a couple of times. You?”
    “Lived a few months with a guy who does that relaxation music, you know, like they play when you’re getting a massage? With birds chirping and brooks babbling in the background? Mellows you out? He had that effect on me. I nearly slipped into a coma half a dozen times with him. Then there was a thing with an NBA coach, a reality TV producer, and a guy who raised iguanas.” She paused reflectively. “I’ve had a knack for attracting people outside the boundaries of normalcy. But hey, that’s California. Maybe it’s good to be back here.”
    Out of nowhere, I had a flashback.
    “Purple,” I said.
    “What?”
    I pointed my index finger at her, waved it about in a general way. “Your underwear. It was purple.”
    Julie smiled. “I was hurt there for a bit, thinking I failed to make an impression.”

TWELVE
    THE next day, at breakfast, I said to Thomas, “I liked Dr. Grigorin.”
    “She’s okay,” he said, grabbing a banana from the bowl. “What kind of pills did she give you?”
    I shrugged. “Who knows what the hell all these drugs are called.”
    He peeled the banana down to the halfway point. “Did she tell you?”
    “Tell me what?”
    “What I’m doing. I told her you could know about it.”
    “She told me.”
    “I thought it was time for you to know what I’m working on.”
    “Why didn’t you just tell me yourself?”
    He bit into the banana. “I figured, coming from her, you’d believe it. Because she’s a doctor.”
    “You think Dr. Grigorin believes it?” I asked him. “What it is you’re doing? Memorizing maps and street plans so you can help secret agents on the run? And that one day, there won’t beany maps at all and you’ll have all the information stored up here?” I tapped my index finger just above my temple.
    He put the banana down and rested his palms on the kitchen table. “If she didn’t believe it, why would she ask so many questions about it? If she didn’t believe it, she’d dismiss it out of hand.” Disappointment washed over his face. “I guess you don’t believe in what I’m doing. I was wrong, thinking Dr. Grigorin could convince you.”
    “Think about it, Thomas. You’re just some guy, living in a house outside Promise Falls in upstate New York. You’ve never worked in law enforcement or for any kind of government agency. You don’t have a degree in whatever one gets a degree in