the street. Through the still-naked trees he could see the Lake, a blue lozenge in the greening grass. No boats on it yet, but it wouldn't be long.He tapped in the access number on his prepaid calling card. He loved these things. As anonymous as cash and a hell of a lot lighter than the pocketful of change he used to have to carry.Everybody seemed so frightened of the potential threat new electronics posed to security. And maybe it was a genuine peril for citizens. But from Jack's perspective, electronics offered an anonymity bonanza. He used to keep an answering machine in an empty office on Tenth Avenue, but a few months ago he unplugged it and had all calls to that number forwarded to a voice-mail service.Email, voice mail, calling cards…he could almost hear Louis Armstrong singing, "What a wonderful world."Jack punched in the Brooklyn number Ehler had left. He found himself talking to the Keystone Paper Cylinder Company and asked to speak to Lewis Ehler."Whom shall I say is calling?" said the receptionist."Just tell him it's Jack, calling about his email."Ehler came on right away. He spoke in a wheezy, high-pitched voice accelerating steadily in an urgent whisper."Thank you so much for calling. I've been half out of my mind not knowing what to do. I mean, since Mel's been gone I've—""Whoa, whoa," Jack said. "Gone? Your wife's missing?""Yes! Three days now and—""Wait. Stop right there. We can save me time and you a lot of breath: I don't do missing wives."His voice rose in pitch and volume. "But you must!""That's a police thing. They've got the manpower and resources to do missing persons a lot better than I ever will.""No-no! She said no police! Absolutely no police.""She told you? When did she tell you?""Just last
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