Page 44 of The Instruments of Darkness

“Against what?”

Her slightly downturned mouth dipped further, as though there was no end to the sorrows an unjust world might be prepared to inflict on a well-meaning shill for the gas industry.

“Future litigation. You’re a private investigator and were noticeably reluctant to specify the nature of your inquiry over the phone. Naturally, we have to protect ourselves—and you, of course.”

“Of course,” I said. “God forbid we should start off on the wrong foot.”

“That,” she agreed, “would be bad.”

If Delaney Duhamel had ever encountered irony before, either the experience hadn’t registered or she was even more comfortable with it than I was. The coffee arrived, along with some dinky little cookies that would stick between one’s teeth for the rest of the day. I let Delaney Duhamel pour. Someone laughed shrilly in an adjoining office, and she winced at the sound.

“So, what are you investigating, Mr. Parker?”

“The disappearance of a child.”

“Henry Clark?”

Sensibly, she’d googled me before I arrived. The most recent results would have been related to the Clark case.

“That’s right.”

“How interesting,” she said, which was itself an interesting choice of word to use about a missing, possibly murdered boy. “I had initially assumed it might be something else, until I googled your name.”

“Something else such as—?”

“When private investigators come our way, it’s usually in relation to environmental issues. I don’t think we’ve ever had one ask about a missing person, or not since I’ve been here.”

“And how long have you been here, Ms. Duhamel?”

“Two years—actually, closer to three.”

“Were you involved with the most recent forum?”

“Deeply. Why?”

“Stephen Clark, the father of the missing boy, was an attendee.”

“But you’re working for the mother, right? Or so I read.”

“That’s correct.”

“How interesting,” she said again. Perhaps she just found everything interesting, which wasn’t much different from finding nothing interesting at all. “And what, apart from his attendance, connects the forum to your case?”

“He had an affair with another participant,” I said, “because nothing screams romance like oil and gas. I’d like to talk to the woman involved. The name under which she registered was Mara Teller.”

“We can’t give out those details.”

“I haven’t told you the kind of details I’m looking for.”

“Nevertheless, we have certain obligations when it comes to protecting the privacy of attendees.”

“Ms. Duhamel,” I said, “I went online. The forum guide included contact information for all the attendees: job titles, company names, websites, even some email addresses. Short of their sexual preferences and how they like their martinis, I’m not sure what’s left to hide.”

“But if that information is freely available, why are you here?”

“Because the woman I’m looking for may have registered under a false name. Her consultancy business consisted of a placeholder site and nothing more. The phone number she gave to Stephen Clark has since been reassigned to another user, and the email address came from a Swiss-based startup that provides anonymous accounts to users. That address, too, is now defunct. I can find no Mara Teller with a background corresponding to the woman who attended your forum. It makes me curious about who she really was, and why she was there.”

Delaney Duhamel, visibly unhappy, played with her engagement ring. The stone was blue and artificial, which made it doubly apt for her.

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