In other words, a typical night in the romantic life of the private eye; I’d been tanked, threatened, schmoozed, followed, and cornered into committing a federal crime—one, at least. What George Andrew Gesner chose to make of it in a civil case concerning pain and suffering was up to him and a slew of courts. Nothing made sense. An ordinary citizen—assuming that creature still existed outside the Museum of Natural History—had been shot to death in his basement, the Ukrainian mob was involved (or maybe not), the Episcopal Church was offering blood money for the person or persons responsible, two more murders had logged in, the feds were involved, I was in their gun sights, a hyperactive kid was giving screwy answers to even screwier questions, a solid citizen (see above) was feeding out disinformation about the first victim’s associations—and there was even a stoic Indian. It was like a collaboration between Robert Ludlum, Zane Grey, Rod Serling, and the writers of an after-school special.
