The Morning After My Son’s Funeral An Airport Worker Called About The Bag He Left Behind

on a pocket watch.

Wilson met me the following afternoon above a coffee shop on Eastland Avenue. His office had a desk, two chairs, a filing cabinet, and nothing on the walls. Just the tools.

I gave him Tara’s full name, addresses, David’s financial institutions, and photographs of the emails I had taken by flashlight the night before.

He looked at the continue reading …