doesn’t have a gun, as far as I can tell. I’m a little disappointed because I’ve always wanted to use the line “Easy, old-timer.”
“ Can I help you?” the man asks. That’s a little disappointing too.
“ Are you Dr. Arlin Heller?” I ask.
“ Who the hell wants to know?” That’s more like it.
“ My name is Paul Bayes,” I say. “I’m a friend of Tali’s.”
He frowns, but not a who-the-hell-is-Tali? frown. More like a this-schmuck-isn’t-good-enough-for-Tali frown. I might be projecting.
“ How do you know Tali?”
“ I, uh, actually only met her two days ago. At the BART station in San Leandro. It’s complicated. I was supposed to meet her for dinner yesterday and she never showed up.”
This time I ’m sure I’m not projecting. He’s giving me the same look that the waiter at Garibaldi’s did last night.
“ Look,” I say, “I know how it sounds, but I swear I’m not some kind of stalker. I’m just worried about her. If you tell me Tali’s OK, I’ll leave right now.”
He regards me for a while, finally says, “Tali never came home on Monday. Last I heard from her was around one o’clock in the afternoon. Said she’d be home in an hour.”
“ I was there,” I say. “When she called you. She said she got distracted, forgot to call you. She apologized and said she’d be home in about an hour. We were at a bar near the pier. Where … it happened.” I had to assume he knew what Tali was doing at the pier. The person she had talked to on the phone was clearly in on it.
“ Did she leave right after that?”
“ Pretty much,” I say. “We took a cab together back to San Leandro. I saw her get into her car. That’s the last I saw of her. We had made plans to meet and Garibaldi’s in Fremont at six the next day, but she never showed.”
“ She gave you this address?”
I shake my head. “I did a little research online and found you. To be honest, sir, I don’t even know Tali’s last name. Is she your daughter?”
He laughs. “Do you have some ID on you?”
I approach and show him my driver ’s license and my California state teacher ID.
“ So you’re not with Peregrine?”
“ Who?”
“ The insurance company.”
“ No, sir.”
He regards me for a moment. “OK, come on in, Paul.”
He ’s cordial after that. We sit in the living room and he gets me a cup of coffee. Turns out that Tali was a graduate student of his at Stanford and is now sort of a live-in assistant. He’s clearly agitated about her disappearance, but trying not to show it. He seems to be avoiding the subject of what exactly Tali was doing on Monday and his own involvement in it. I mention that I’ve been reading his book.
“ Which one?” he asks. “ Gauge Theory of Elementary Particle Physics ?”
I shake my head. “ Fate and Consciousness .”
He chuckles to himself. “I know, that’s the only one normal people read. It outsells the others a hundred to one. And my colleagues hate it.”
“ Yeah, I read some of the reviews. One of them called it ‘pseudoscience.’”
“ To some people, anything that isn’t science is pseudoscience. Especially if it’s written by a scientist. I could write a book of poetry for children and some idiot reviewer would call it pseudoscience. That book wasn’t written for scientists. I’d already written three of those, and if I had wanted to write another, I would have.”
“ But there’s a difference between popularizing a subject and bowdlerizing it,” I say. “It seems like a lot of the reviews were making the point that you were jumping to conclusions. It almost seemed to me like you were deliberately leaving things out.”
He smiles at me. “So tell me, Paul Bayes, what were you doing at the San Leandro BART station?”
Ouch. OK, we ’re changing subjects, I guess. At least maybe I’ll get him to explain what he and Tali are up to, besides writing nutty books. “I was flipping a coin,” I say evenly. I figure he knows
“ Can I help you?” the man asks. That’s a little disappointing too.
“ Are you Dr. Arlin Heller?” I ask.
“ Who the hell wants to know?” That’s more like it.
“ My name is Paul Bayes,” I say. “I’m a friend of Tali’s.”
He frowns, but not a who-the-hell-is-Tali? frown. More like a this-schmuck-isn’t-good-enough-for-Tali frown. I might be projecting.
“ How do you know Tali?”
“ I, uh, actually only met her two days ago. At the BART station in San Leandro. It’s complicated. I was supposed to meet her for dinner yesterday and she never showed up.”
This time I ’m sure I’m not projecting. He’s giving me the same look that the waiter at Garibaldi’s did last night.
“ Look,” I say, “I know how it sounds, but I swear I’m not some kind of stalker. I’m just worried about her. If you tell me Tali’s OK, I’ll leave right now.”
He regards me for a while, finally says, “Tali never came home on Monday. Last I heard from her was around one o’clock in the afternoon. Said she’d be home in an hour.”
“ I was there,” I say. “When she called you. She said she got distracted, forgot to call you. She apologized and said she’d be home in about an hour. We were at a bar near the pier. Where … it happened.” I had to assume he knew what Tali was doing at the pier. The person she had talked to on the phone was clearly in on it.
“ Did she leave right after that?”
“ Pretty much,” I say. “We took a cab together back to San Leandro. I saw her get into her car. That’s the last I saw of her. We had made plans to meet and Garibaldi’s in Fremont at six the next day, but she never showed.”
“ She gave you this address?”
I shake my head. “I did a little research online and found you. To be honest, sir, I don’t even know Tali’s last name. Is she your daughter?”
He laughs. “Do you have some ID on you?”
I approach and show him my driver ’s license and my California state teacher ID.
“ So you’re not with Peregrine?”
“ Who?”
“ The insurance company.”
“ No, sir.”
He regards me for a moment. “OK, come on in, Paul.”
He ’s cordial after that. We sit in the living room and he gets me a cup of coffee. Turns out that Tali was a graduate student of his at Stanford and is now sort of a live-in assistant. He’s clearly agitated about her disappearance, but trying not to show it. He seems to be avoiding the subject of what exactly Tali was doing on Monday and his own involvement in it. I mention that I’ve been reading his book.
“ Which one?” he asks. “ Gauge Theory of Elementary Particle Physics ?”
I shake my head. “ Fate and Consciousness .”
He chuckles to himself. “I know, that’s the only one normal people read. It outsells the others a hundred to one. And my colleagues hate it.”
“ Yeah, I read some of the reviews. One of them called it ‘pseudoscience.’”
“ To some people, anything that isn’t science is pseudoscience. Especially if it’s written by a scientist. I could write a book of poetry for children and some idiot reviewer would call it pseudoscience. That book wasn’t written for scientists. I’d already written three of those, and if I had wanted to write another, I would have.”
“ But there’s a difference between popularizing a subject and bowdlerizing it,” I say. “It seems like a lot of the reviews were making the point that you were jumping to conclusions. It almost seemed to me like you were deliberately leaving things out.”
He smiles at me. “So tell me, Paul Bayes, what were you doing at the San Leandro BART station?”
Ouch. OK, we ’re changing subjects, I guess. At least maybe I’ll get him to explain what he and Tali are up to, besides writing nutty books. “I was flipping a coin,” I say evenly. I figure he knows
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