and his escape route was still presumed to have been with the EMTs. That placed the blame squarely on her narrow shoulders.
“Anyone can make a mistake,” I said, trying to console her.
“I didn’t make a mistake. But that’s not the worst part.”
Monk nodded. “The worst part is that you volunteered tobe the lead investigator and you’re coming up blank. No trace. Like he vanished from the face of the earth.”
“How did you know?”
“The file you dropped off this morning.” He indicated the document, centered on his otherwise polished desk. “You’re listed first on the cover sheet, indicating you’re the lead investigator.”
“I mean how did you know we’re coming up blank?”
“Because of his name.”
“His name?” It’s amazing how, after all these years of my seeing him work, Monk can still surprise me. “How can you know anything from his name?”
My partner retrieved the folder and pulled out a page torn from a notepad.
Torn
may be too strong a word;
surgically removed
. I’d seen him writing on it this morning and hadn’t given it much thought. At the top, he’d printed the name,
Wyatt S. Noone
. And below, in the same, eerily perfect hand were variations of the syllables.
Wyatt is no one. Why it is no one. Why? It is no one. Wyatt’s snow one.
“The last one’s a reach.” Monk was looking over my shoulder. “But the others all amount to the same thing, a play on words.”
“You’re saying . . . It’s a fake name?” asked Devlin. Why had the two of us not seen this? It had been right there in front of us.
“Totally fake,” said Monk. “The man was having fun, rubbing our noses in it. I’m betting that everything about Mr. No One is fabricated.”
“Except the fact that he worked at an import company for a year,” I said, “and murdered three people.”
“Well, now it makes sense,” said Devlin. “The man’s address is a post office box. He doesn’t have a driver’s license. His social belongs to a dead guy in Pasadena, which wasn’t a problem for him since Wyatt—whatever his name is—didn’t file tax returns.”
“How about fingerprints?” I asked.
“He had the foresight to wipe down his office, so we’re dusting the rest of the third floor. But we’re not holding out much hope. One good thing, Wyatt does show up on a few Facebook posts, office functions with the other EDI employees, so at least we have some photos.”
“How did he get hired?” I asked. “Didn’t anyone at the office check his references?”
“I’ll get right on it,” said the lieutenant. She took out her smartphone and began texting something to someone. “And let’s keep this quiet. I’ll tell the captain about our man without a past. But we should keep it out of public knowledge—and far away from the press.”
“He must have left some trace,” I said. Personally, I couldn’t imagine being off the grid for more than a week. “The man slept somewhere. He must have done something for relaxation or social interaction. Or food. No one can stay invisible.”
“No one?” Monk asked with half a devilish grin. “As in Noone?”
“As in nobody,” I insisted. “Take Sarabeth. She worked with Noone every day. She must have talked with him about things, noticed things about him.”
“Luckily she survived,” said Devlin.
“That’s a good approach,” Monk said. His facebrightened. “We need to interview Sarabeth again. Several more times. I’m thinking ten. Ten’s a good number.”
If Devlin had any inkling about Monk’s enthusiasm for Sarabeth Willow, she didn’t let it show. “Does that mean you’re continuing on the case?” Her shoulders relaxed. “I was afraid, since you opened a real agency, you might not have time.”
“We’ll make the time,” I said. “As it happens, we have a big case. A mob murder with a wealthy client somehow involved. Very puzzling.”
“It’s nothing,” Monk said. “Inconsequential. I can finish it in a
“Anyone can make a mistake,” I said, trying to console her.
“I didn’t make a mistake. But that’s not the worst part.”
Monk nodded. “The worst part is that you volunteered tobe the lead investigator and you’re coming up blank. No trace. Like he vanished from the face of the earth.”
“How did you know?”
“The file you dropped off this morning.” He indicated the document, centered on his otherwise polished desk. “You’re listed first on the cover sheet, indicating you’re the lead investigator.”
“I mean how did you know we’re coming up blank?”
“Because of his name.”
“His name?” It’s amazing how, after all these years of my seeing him work, Monk can still surprise me. “How can you know anything from his name?”
My partner retrieved the folder and pulled out a page torn from a notepad.
Torn
may be too strong a word;
surgically removed
. I’d seen him writing on it this morning and hadn’t given it much thought. At the top, he’d printed the name,
Wyatt S. Noone
. And below, in the same, eerily perfect hand were variations of the syllables.
Wyatt is no one. Why it is no one. Why? It is no one. Wyatt’s snow one.
“The last one’s a reach.” Monk was looking over my shoulder. “But the others all amount to the same thing, a play on words.”
“You’re saying . . . It’s a fake name?” asked Devlin. Why had the two of us not seen this? It had been right there in front of us.
“Totally fake,” said Monk. “The man was having fun, rubbing our noses in it. I’m betting that everything about Mr. No One is fabricated.”
“Except the fact that he worked at an import company for a year,” I said, “and murdered three people.”
“Well, now it makes sense,” said Devlin. “The man’s address is a post office box. He doesn’t have a driver’s license. His social belongs to a dead guy in Pasadena, which wasn’t a problem for him since Wyatt—whatever his name is—didn’t file tax returns.”
“How about fingerprints?” I asked.
“He had the foresight to wipe down his office, so we’re dusting the rest of the third floor. But we’re not holding out much hope. One good thing, Wyatt does show up on a few Facebook posts, office functions with the other EDI employees, so at least we have some photos.”
“How did he get hired?” I asked. “Didn’t anyone at the office check his references?”
“I’ll get right on it,” said the lieutenant. She took out her smartphone and began texting something to someone. “And let’s keep this quiet. I’ll tell the captain about our man without a past. But we should keep it out of public knowledge—and far away from the press.”
“He must have left some trace,” I said. Personally, I couldn’t imagine being off the grid for more than a week. “The man slept somewhere. He must have done something for relaxation or social interaction. Or food. No one can stay invisible.”
“No one?” Monk asked with half a devilish grin. “As in Noone?”
“As in nobody,” I insisted. “Take Sarabeth. She worked with Noone every day. She must have talked with him about things, noticed things about him.”
“Luckily she survived,” said Devlin.
“That’s a good approach,” Monk said. His facebrightened. “We need to interview Sarabeth again. Several more times. I’m thinking ten. Ten’s a good number.”
If Devlin had any inkling about Monk’s enthusiasm for Sarabeth Willow, she didn’t let it show. “Does that mean you’re continuing on the case?” Her shoulders relaxed. “I was afraid, since you opened a real agency, you might not have time.”
“We’ll make the time,” I said. “As it happens, we have a big case. A mob murder with a wealthy client somehow involved. Very puzzling.”
“It’s nothing,” Monk said. “Inconsequential. I can finish it in a
Similar Books
