Who's There? by Herschel Cozine Page A

lot to go on. Anything you could tell me about him would be helpful.”
    “I’ve told you everything I know,” Griswold said. “Will you help? Please?”
    Usually I have no problem accepting clients. It’s my job. And clients are few and far between. But this case seemed impossible. MacPhee was bothered by someone who wasn’t there. He had never seen the man and didn’t know what he looked like. I shook my head to clear it.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “I…”
    “Oh, but you have to,” he said. “You are my last hope. It’s a matter of life and death.”
    “Well,” I said, “if you put it that way…”
    Before I could say anything more he leaped to his feet. I thought he was going to hug me.
    “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” he cried.
    I was trapped! I took the case.
    If the little man who wasn’t there had been annoying my client by his absence, I was fairly certain that he had been doing the same with others. I decided the best way to approach this case was to make the rounds around town and start asking questions.
    I started with the local bar. Well, I had to start somewhere . After all, it was my investigation.
    The bartender, a heavyset man with droopy eyelids and a perpetual scowl, snorted when I asked about the little man.
    “Yeah,” he said. “I know who you mean. He doesn’t come in here all the time. In fact he wasn’t in here every night last week.”
    “Is that so?” I said. “Where can I find him?”
    The bartender shrugged. “How should I know? He never talks to me.”
    “Well, then, tell me this,” I said. “When was the last time he didn’t not come in?”
    The bartender flipped his towel on the counter and frowned. “Dunno. Probably last month. I don’t keep track of those things. He’s not the only guy I gotta worry about.”
    “Has he not been in tonight?”
    “No,” the bartender said. “But it’s early.”
    My head was reeling. It could have been the cheap beer. I thanked the bartender, threw a bill on the counter and left.
    I had had enough for one day. It was not going to be easy to get to the bottom of this case. In situations such as this I find ways to keep perspective by finding suitable diversions. I spent the evening watching reruns of Gilligan’s Island . OK, so it isn’t exactly brain food. But it doesn’t tax it either.
    The next day I visited other merchants in town. The butcher. The baker. The candlestick maker. None of them were of any help to me. They all told the same story about the little man’s not being there. I had to admit he was busy. I don’t know how he could not be in so many places in one day.
    “He’s harmless,” the shoemaker said. “I don’t mind him. Tell your client to ignore him.”
    “He’s not paying me for advice,” I said. “Can you tell me where I can find this person?”
    The shoemaker shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. I think he doesn’t live out near the Peter Pan Airport. He doesn’t travel a lot, and must have a ton of frequent non-flyer miles.”
    I thanked him and left.
    I spent most of the morning driving around the airport, but as you might expect, had no success. After several fruitless hours, I gave up and drove back to town.
    For the next two weeks I devoted full time to the case. I placed an ad in the local paper, asking that the little man contact me. Except for a few crank responses I was unsuccessful. Come to think of it, he may have answered the ad. From what I understand of this guy, it would be impossible to tell.
    I followed endless leads, none of which panned out. It was worse than a wild goose chase. At least you stand a chance of finding a wild goose. I was chasing moonbeams.
    I thought I caught a break one day when a man came into my office and excitedly announced that he knew where the little man was.
    “I didn’t meet him on my way to St. Ives,” he said excitedly.
    “Are you certain?”
    “Of course. How many men who aren’t there do you think there are around