gary cuba a renegade seer, we may be obliged to take matters into our own hands. What is the expression . . . ‘clean up our own house’?“ “But how do you propose to do that? I question the wisdom of going in that direction. If it’s our man, he’s clearly very dangerous.” Gerd reached over and patted my arm. “Let me make some discreet inquiries, Peter. In the meantime, try not to fret. Everything will seem better in the morning, when the rain stops and the sun comes out.” He smiled and stood up. “Would you fancy a game of chess? That will help take your mind off these . . . distasteful subjects.” •
I left Vanderhout’s residence late. The rain had stopped and a thick fog had drifted in to blanket the wet streets. As I drove home, I noticed that I was being tailed. Probably Detective Henderson or one of his lackeys. This business was getting complicated.
What was worse, I discovered that someone had entered my apartment and gone through my things while I was gone. It had been a subtle job, and I might not have even noticed it—except that I’m scrupulous about filing my data CDs. I noticed that a pair of them was out of order in my desk file drawer. Looking further, I found other small hints of intrusion. Henderson again, no doubt. I felt the heat rise behind my collar. Who did he think he was dealing with? Fortunately, there was no way he could’ve found any sensitive information on other sin-seers, even if he had scraped my computer’s hard drive clean. Those data were safely stored where no one could find them without tearing the place down to its foundation. Still, I felt irate. I’d confront Henderson in the morning and demand that he back off on me. Or maybe not. It wouldn’t be wise for me to cut off my nose to spite my face. The fact was I benefited greatly from my June 2013 - 36