police station with Sergeant Pohlhaus. It was quite clear to me that speaking of these matters with Philip alone would be a waste of effort. The first e-mail showed up in my Inbox two days before Mark vanished, the second the day before. Reading the e-mails only cranked up Philip’s suspicion that Mark and I had been engaged in some kind of conspiracy. Once Philip read the e-mails, he insisted on showing them to Pohlhaus, which was obviously the right thing to do. Pohlhaus read them, asked both of us a few questions, and put the printouts of the e-mails into a folder he kept in his bottom drawer. “You never know,” he said, but as he said it, he sighed. I did my best—I told them both about the connection to Joseph Kalendar, but I might as well have been talking to a couple of dogs.
From: [email protected]
Sent: Monday, June 16, 2003 3:24 PM
Subject: crazy but not that crazy
hi unc
wondering how u r these daze, been thinking abt u. it isn’t e z living here after what happened 2 mom. hard 2 concentrate, hard 2 keep myself in focus. now that i’m finally writing, i don’t really know what 2 say.
do u ever get some idea u think is totally messed-up mad crazy, and it turns out 2 b right? or good?
b cool
m
“Did you write back?” asked Philip; Sergeant Pohlhaus asked, “Did you respond to the boy’s e-mail?”
“Sure,” I said. “I wrote that it happens once or twice a week.”
Here is his second e-mail to me:
From: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 4:18 PM
Subject: Re: crazy but not that crazy
hi unc t—
deeper & deeper we go, and where we come out nobody knows . . .
so what I want to ask u is . . .
do u ever feel like u r in 1 of your own books? does the world ever feel that way 2 u?—like a tu book?
thanx,
m
“What did you tell him?” asked Philip and Sergeant Pohlhaus.
“I told him ‘never’ and ‘all the time,’” I said.
“I’m sorry?” said Sergeant Pohlhaus. He was a steely, whiplike man, and his question indicated that he was not amused.
So I showed him my e-mail:
From: [email protected]
Sent: Tuesday, June 17, 2003 7:45 PM
Subject: Re: crazy but not that crazy
Dear Mark,
>do u ever feel like u r in 1 of your own books? does the world >ever feel that way 2 u?—like a tu book?
Answer:
(1) Never.
(2) All the time.
What the hell is going on out there, anyhow?
Unc T
“He never answered,” I said. “But don’t you think that this mysterious project is probably involved in his disappearance?”
“Maybe,” Philip said.
Both Sergeant Pohlhaus and I looked at him. We were in a room crowded with desks. Plainclothes policemen were talking into their phones and typing up reports. When I asked Pohlhaus what the room was called, he gave me a funny look and said, “The bullpen,” as if that was something everyone should know.
“This so-called project obviously had something to do with the Sherman Park Killer,” Philip said.
“I think it was about something else,” I said. “I just learned that Mark and his friend Jimbo let themselves into that house behind yours, Philip, and after that I think Mark spent a lot of time there by himself. I think the house was his project. Or the project took place in that house. It used to belong to Joseph Kalendar.”
“That’s impossible,” Philip said. “My wife would have told me.” He looked at Pohlhaus. “This isn’t something I want everybody to know, but my wife and Kalendar were cousins.”
“That’s interesting,” Pohlhaus said. “It would have been logical for her to have said something about it at the time.”
“Philip,” I said, “did you let Nancy see your house before you bought it?”
“Why would I have done that? It was in the right neighborhood, and all the houses are pretty much alike. Besides, I had to act fast.”
“So she didn’t know until it was too late to back out. Once she realized where the new house was, I think she wanted to protect you.”
“To
“Mark was fascinated with that house,” I told Pohlhaus. “He was obsessed with it.”
“A kid would be,” Pohlhaus said. “There must be a lot of bloodstains in there. Probably a lot of other stuff, too.”
“Don’t you think you ought to go over there and take a look?”
“Hang on, maybe we already did.” Without explaining what he had just said, Pohlhaus took a little notebook from his pocket and flipped through it until he came to the page he wanted. “Is the address of that house 3323 North Michigan Street?”
I said, “Yes,” and Philip said, “How am I supposed to know?”
“It is?” Pohlhaus asked.
“Yes,” I said.
He looked at Philip. “Your son and his friend called us on the seventh of June. They wanted to inform us of their suspicions that the Sherman Park Killer had been taking refuge in an abandoned residence at 3323 North Michigan.”
“There you are,” Philip said. “That proves I’m right. Mark and that dummy were snooping around, pretending
