CHAPTER SIX B: THE INVOICE

Ruiz called the following morning and asked Mark whether Martin had ever used a particular middle initial.
Mark remembered the letters on Martin’s truck registration from the year they helped each other move furniture.
“His middle name is Arthur,” Mark said.
“The signature on the invoice says Martin J. Parker,” Ruiz replied.
“Then somebody copied the wrong name.”
“Or somebody wanted us to believe Martin signed it.”
Mark sat at the breakfast table with the temporary door behind him.
He could hear the contractor measuring the opening outside.
Ruiz explained that the invoice described a patient transport that had supposedly taken place on the same night Martin disappeared.
The route began at a clinic and ended at a rehabilitation facility forty miles away.
A dispatcher had approved it at 11:17 p.

m.
“Why would anyone bill a ride during a disappearance?” Mark asked.
“That is one of the questions we intend to answer.”
Mark looked at the pencil marks on his kitchen calendar.
He had written Martin’s name beside the date when the neighborhood search began.
The penciled square now contained two incompatible stories.
In one, Martin had vanished after an argument with his wife.
In the other, a transport company had been moving a person or a vehicle while claiming to carry a patient.
“I want to help,” Mark said.
“You already have,” Ruiz replied.
“Then why do people keep bringing things to me?”
“Because somebody has told them you are safer to approach than the authorities.”
“Am I?”
Ruiz did not answer immediately.
“You are a witness, Mr. Ellis,

and witnesses should not be used as unofficial investigators.”
Mark wrote that sentence on the back of a grocery list.
He needed something plain enough to remember when the next stranger appeared.

CHAPTER SIX C: THE CONTRACTOR’S QUESTION

Luis arrived at Mark’s house early on Thursday with a revised estimate.
He had discovered that the sliding door’s frame was bent beyond repair.
The replacement would take longer than expected because the manufacturer needed to match an unusual opening.
Mark studied the estimate and asked whether the insurance company would cover the additional work.
Luis said the adjuster would have to approve it.
He then asked a question that surprised Mark.
“Do you want the new door to look exactly like the old one?”
Mark glanced at the plywood.
“I haven’t thought about it.”
“Some people want stronger glass after something like this,” Luis said.
“Others want the same view they had before.”
Mark considered the pear tree beyond the patio.
He had planted it with his father five years earlier.
The tree had begun to flower just before his father died.
Mark had always liked seeing it from the kitchen while making breakfast.
“I want to see the tree,” he said.
Luis nodded and marked the estimate.
“Then we’ll find a way to give you the view back.”
After Luis left, Mark called his insurance adjuster and asked about the frame.
The adjuster explained the documentation she needed.
Mark gathered the photographs and sent them without mentioning the federal case.
It felt good to complete a task that had a clear beginning and an understandable end.
He had spent too many days listening to people explain how one mystery led to another.
A door, at least, could be measured.