The Fourth Bear

“Did you call anyone, or did anyone call you?”

“Doug called me at about nine-thirty, and I must have fielded a dozen or so calls until Agent Danvers arrived.”

“So you can’t account for your whereabouts until nine-thirty in the morning?”

“No.”

They questioned him further but gained little else that was useful. He knew of no one who would want to hurt Goldilocks except a few disgruntled hunters and bear farmers. He regarded the notion that she might have committed suicide or ignored warning notices to wander over SommeWorld as “laughable” and described her as “fussy” and methodical but quite obsessive and single-minded.

“You’ve been very helpful,” said Jack finally. “I may ask you some more questions when we know more. I’ll let you get back to your constituents.”

Bartholomew rolled his eyes skyward. “More complaints about the roads and hospital waiting lists, I shouldn’t wonder. If you ever think you might want a career in politics, Inspector, think again. It’s merely a continuous and mostly vain attempt to keep several groups of people with opposing needs and agendas happy, and knowing in your heart of hearts that you ca

He paused for a moment before continuing.

“Please keep me informed, Inspector—she meant a great deal to me.”

Jack drove a circuitous route back to the office. He still wanted to get Dorian Gray to explain to Kreeper the nature of the Allegro’s guarantee. On the way there, Mary said, “Bartholomew genuinely seemed to have cared about Goldilocks.”

“I agree. It also explains NS-4’s interest. They must realize that his days as an MP are numbered if even a whiff of his straightness gets out, and are trying to protect him.”

“I’d like to know the story she was working on,” mused Mary.

“So would I.”

“Sorry to trouble you,” said a young officer who had just waved them down at another police checkpoint, “but I wonder if you have seen this person anytime recently?” He showed them a picture of the Gingerbreadman.

“We’re NCD, Officer,” said Mary, holding up her ID.

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” said the officer, who saluted and waved them on. As they drove off, they could see that the armored car parked next to the road was full of heavily armed troops. Copperfield was clearly trusting in superior firepower to bring the Gingerbreadman down.

They fell silent until they reached Dorian Gray’s used-car lot, or to be more precise, Dorian Gray’s ex –car lot. He had done a ru

“Blast,” said Jack, “another missing person.”