14   By Wednesday morning the existence of Peter Hart’s mysterious daughter was public knowledge. My office phone rang ceaselessly, but I let all the calls go to voicemail. I had expected one of them to be from Margo, but they were all from reporters. The calls stopped around eleven. I asked Diane to go through my voicemail and take down the reporters’ numbers. I called Libby. She answered her phone, and I informed her succinctly of everything that was going on: the filing of the petition and the seemingly favorable response from the judge, the interest of the media, Rose’s investigative mission. “Would you like me to come in?” she asked. “Why, sure,” I said, though I couldn’t think of any specific thing that might require her presence in my office. “Is three-thirty okay?” “Sure.” I had not seen Libby in a week, that is, since before my date with Chris. Now the prospect of seeing her, with another date with Chris looming, felt strangely frightening. I went out for lunch with Barbara and Jerry. I carefully avoided any conversation having anything to do with Peter Hart, and I did my best to deflect any oblique reference to the matter from my tablemates.   Once again, Libby was in cycling gear when she came in. The aura she projected evoked that of a siren. “Tell me once again,” she said, “more slowly, everything that you told me this morning.” I did as she asked. “Let’s hold a press conference,” she said. “Who? When? Where?” “You and me, tomorrow, at the Randall Museum. Did I answer your questions in the right order?” “Yes, yes and yes. It’s a great idea. I’ll have Diane call the Randall.” Within five minutes Diane had confirmed that the museum’s auditorium would be available at two o’clock on Thursday, and she was calling the reporters, one by one, to inform them of the press conference. When Libby left I realized that my fears had been justified. Her brief presence had so overwhelmed my mind and my senses that it became impossible to imagine myself in the company of another woman. I had committed myself to going out with Chris, and in fact I was due to call her that evening in order to confirm the details of the date. Another sexless date, for good measure. I had not been on a sexless second date since high school. It felt bizarre to be reliving yet another aspect of my adolescence, and in particular its most painful one, at fifty years of age. At home I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, wondering if I was sprouting pimples again. There were none, but the blotches on my upper cheeks seemed more prominent than usual. I wondered how they had looked to Libby.   As I was making dinner my phone rang. Could it be Chris? We had agreed that it would be I who called her. In the middle of the fourth ring I decided to answer the phone. “Hello!” “Gary?” The drawl was unmistakable. “How are you? It’s Andy Stone speaking.” “Hi, Andy. I’m fine. Where are you?” “I’m still here in Lafayette, doin’ my work. Listen, I heard from Margo that you’re representin’ someone who claims to be Peter Hart’s daughter.” “Yes, and it looks like a pretty good claim.” “Margo tells me that her name is Elizabeth Perino.” Evidently Margo had not read the petition thoroughly, but Andy didn’t leave me time to correct him. “I remember Peter mentioning someone named Perino…” “Laura.” “That’s right, Laura Perino. He said that she was the last woman that he’d had strong feelin’s for. He still dated women for some years after that, but he no longer had any feelin’s for them. In fact, after he and Laura Perino had split up they got together for a one-night stand, and he didn’t feel much any more.” “Well, he felt enough so that the one-night stand produced the daughter. And Margo didn’t give you her full name. It’s Elizabeth Perino Schlemmer.” As I had expected, the last bit of information took a while to sink in. “Did you say Schlemmer?” he finally asked. “Yes. Libby Schlemmer.” “Libby Schlemmer, from Portland, Oregon?” “That’s right. She lives in San Francisco now.” “How long?” The Southern accent was suddenly gone. There was nothing diphthongal in the vowel of long. “About two years.” “She’s Peter Hart’s daughter!” “That’s right.” There was another silence. “You know, Gary, all of a sudden I understand something. When I met Peter there was some vaguely familiar aura about him that I couldn’t place, something that made me love him. It was Libby, the first girl I ever loved!” He sounded as though tears were welling up in him. “That’s what she told me that you said to her. But tell me something: was she the first woman you had sex with?” “Are you kiddin’ me?” The drawl made a brief return visit. “I was twenty-fuckin’-one! For years I’d been fucking anything with two legs and a hole! What gave you that idea?” “Not what, but who. Barbara Kaminsky told me that that’s what you told her.” “Barbara!” Andy laughed. “Nuance isn’t her strong point, is it? It’s a good thing she’s a lawyer, not a shrink. No offense, Gary.” “None taken, Andy.” “What I said to Barbara was made love to, not had sex with. It was Libby who taught me the difference. I’ll never forget her.” I heard him sigh deeply. “What an amazing symmetry! Her mother was the last woman that Peter loved, and she was the first woman that I loved. Maybe the last one as well!” I refrained from bringing up Vicky, or anything else I knew about Andy, until I had Rose’s report, which she might be compiling at that very moment, and which I might have in my hands later in the evening. “It’s almost Shakespearean,” Andy gushed on. “If I’d had sex with Peter then it would have been a weird sort of incest. When I met him he was already too sick. But still, what a beautiful man!” He sighed again. “Libby’s father!” “Libby was at the memorial, you know. But I didn’t know her yet. She came to see me the next day.” “I was too caught up in grief to notice her. God, I’d love to talk to her. Could you give me her phone number?” “She’s my client, you know.” “Oh, yeah, sure. Let me give you mine.” He gave me a number, beginning with 415, which was evidently that of his San Francisco-based cell phone. “One more thing. I’ve got a lock of Peter’s hair, and if you need it for DNA testing I’ll let you have it. And another thing. I’m gonna tell Margo to stop pursuing my case, which I didn’t want her to do in the first place.” “What do you mean?” “It was her idea, spurred by GLAAD. Some anonymous GLAAD donor was paying her fee. I couldn’t think of any reason for not going along with it, but now I can.” I felt deeply moved by Andy’s magnanimous concession, but a little puzzled as well. “Thank you, Andy. That’s beautiful.” I paused. “One more thing from me, then. Why didn’t you and Peter ever file a declaration of domestic partnership?” “It was just somethin’ between us,” said Andy, once more a Southerner, after a pause. “Well, then just another one more thing. What did you think might have happened with Peter’s estate if his daughter hadn’t turned up?” “I’d rather not talk about it now. You’ll find out soon enough. You know, it’s two hours later here, and it’s gettin’ close to our bedtime.” The word sounded like bedtam. “Bye, Gary.” “Bye Andy. It was good hearing from you. And I’ll give your number to Libby ASAP. Oh, by the way, just before we hang up, when will you be getting back?” “Ah don’t know yet, but probably some tam this weekend.” My dinner was overcooked, but it didn’t matter.   It was time to call Chris. I was feeling nervous, but not eager. “Hi, Chris, it’s Gary.” “Hi, Gary.” She sounded cautious. “I’m calling about Friday.” “Yes.” This was not going well. I needed to get more specific. “If we’re going to do dinner and the movie, then we should go to the eight-forty-five show, so we should be done with dinner by eight, and therefore we should be at the restaurant at six-thirty. We need to get together around six, then. How does that sound?” “It sounds okay.” I was beginning to feel some frustration. “The last time we spoke it wasn’t clear where we should meet. Your place or mine,” I said emphatically and, I hoped, humorously. Chris did not laugh. What was the matter with her? Was I calling at a bad time? “Am I calling at a bad time?” I asked in response to her silence. “No, it’s just that I’m thinking it over.” “The other time you were quite definite.” “I know, but this time it’s different.” She stopped without elaborating. “Look, Chris. The other time we had a great time together, until the end, when you said something about the possibility of getting serious.” I paused to wait for a response, but there was none. “I’m not sure I know what that means, but I like you and I’d like to go on seeing you.” I paused again. “I’m not sure that I feel this dichotomy between just sex and a relationship that you mentioned. Is this something that you’ve always felt?” “What do you mean?” Had I caught her unprepared? “I mean, with other men that you’ve dated, did you always decide which of the two it’s going to be before you…” I stopped short in order to let her finish the sentence. “Before I had sex with them? No, unfortunately I didn’t.” At last, she was saying something substantive. I waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. “Unfortunately for whom?” “For me, I guess.” I was going to ask Why unfortunately? but she went on. “Look, Gary. Do you want to call it off?” That was exactly what I was feeling at the moment, but I decided not to take the bait. “No, I don’t, Chris. I’m just trying to get a few things straight.” “Go on.” “When I first suggested that I pick you up at your place, I thought that it would give me a chance to meet your kids. I thought that might be part of your plan of getting serious.” “I hadn’t thought it out like that. But, sure, I’d like you to meet my kids.” “So, your place at six? ¿Tu casa a las seis?” “Sí, está bien.” “Hasta el viernes.” “Hasta el viernes.” I realized after hanging up that I had not told Chris which restaurant I would be taking her to. But since the restaurant I had picked was a Peruvian one, located a block from the cinema, I conjectured that it would be acceptable to her and did not call her back. I turned on the television to watch a Law & Order rerun. The episode had already started, but it was one I had already seen, and it didn’t matter anyway. As usual, I enjoyed picking for flaws in the legal arguments, even after taking into account the differences between New York and California. It’s simply an intellectual game for me. I know that criminal law is different from what I do, that emotions often prevail over reason – not to mention the letter of the law – and sometimes rightly so. The next episode came on. It has always stuck me as odd that when the titles appear on the screen, the detectives appear under Law and the prosecuting attorneys – the legal team – under Order. I remember remarking on this oddity to Margo, in the early years of the series when the chief prosecutor was still played by Michael Moriarty, and receiving from her a blistering comment on my literal-mindedness. “Haven’t you ever heard of the police being called the law?” she said. I would have liked to reply, “Yes, but I’ve never heard of the DA’s office being called the order,” but I did not. It would have led to more of the kind of verbal sparring for which I was, by then, losing my taste. On this occasion I found the title sequence strangely irritating. I muted the television for the commercials that followed, and my phone rang. I turned the television off. “Hi, Gary, it’s Rose. I’m still in Vancouver. I’m staying another night, but I won’t charge you for it.” She giggled. A Rose is a Rose is a Rose, I thought of saying to her, but didn’t. I wondered who it was that she was spending it with: Doctor Thomas Muphongo, someone else that she had met, or perhaps someone that she knew in Vancouver – she had told me that she liked the place. “What’s happening?” “I spent a good part of the day talking with Thomas. Though it was his day off, he wasn’t really free all day. But I got a lot of stuff, pages and pages of notes. I’ve got a thousand-word summary in Word. Would you like me to send it to you?” “Yes, sure.” “Office or home?” “Since it’s office business, make it office. I can retrieve my office e-mail at home.” “Okay. Off it goes! Have fun!” “You too!” “I think I will!” She giggled again. “Good night!” “Good night!” Good old Rose. Doesn’t waste time. Una catalana. I wondered if Chris was partly Catalan. Martínez is not a Catalan name, but then neither is López, and yet the actor Sergi López – who was so good in With a Friend Like Harry and Dirty Pretty Things – is a Catalan. By the time my computer was turned on and my inbox was open, the message from Rose, with the paper-clip icon beside it, was there. I ignored the three other new messages, turned on the printer, and opened Rose’s message. It was blank, except for the attachment. I remembered that when Rose sends me a fax she doesn’t bother with a cover letter. I downloaded TAS-summary.doc, opened it – it was two pages in my default setup for Word – and hit Print. Within a few seconds I had my reading matter for the evening.   CONFIDENTIAL Preliminary Report on the Activities of Thomas Anderson (Andy) Stone in Namibia, ca. 1996-2000 Prepared by Rose Bargalló, BKS Investigations For Gary Einhorn, Esq. Executive Summary   This report is based on interviews with Thomas Kamulenga Muphongo, MD, of Windhoek, Namibia (hereinafter to be known as Thomas or as Dr. Muphongo), currently a resident in trauma medicine at the University of British Columbia Hospital (UBCH) in Vancouver, BC, Canada. Since the material is based on Dr. Muphongo’s personal recollections with no access to written records, all dates are to be taken as approximate. All references to seasons are to be interpreted in terms of Namibia’s location in the southern hemisphere. At Dr. Muphongo’s request some of the names of persons or institutions will be indicated by initials only. Dr. Muphongo affirms that he first learned of the presence of Thomas Anderson Stone (hereinafter to be known as Andy) in Namibia when he was at home in Windhoek in November or December 1996 after completing his third year of medical school at the University of Natal in Durban, South Africa. The information that Thomas received at the time was from his friend Victoria Mawakena (hereinafter to be known as Vicky), a nurse at the Windhoek Central Hospital (WCH). Thomas and Vicky had previously been engaged to be married but the engagement was broken due to issues (unspecified and apparently of long standing) between their respective families and/or clans. At that time Andy had been in Namibia for approximately four or five months. He was sent by his employer, the T*** Corporation of Houston, Texas, to manage an experimental study of an anti-AIDS drug under development by T*** in collaboration with WCH. The arrangements had been made between an executive of T*** and an acquaintance from college, Mrs. M.W., a South African who was the wife of Dr. R.W., the medical director of WCH. The study was under the medical supervision of Dr. G.Z., a staff physician. Vicky was one of the nurses on the study team. On his next visit home, during the Easter vacation of 1997, Thomas learned that Andy had a disagreement with T*** management in Houston over the protocol of the study. His recommendation was that the control group be given an alternative anti-AIDS drug rather than a placebo. He was supported in this by Mrs. M.W. During the July vacation of 1997 Thomas learned that, after a clandestine affair between Andy and Mrs. M.W. had been discovered, the latter went back to South Africa and Dr. R.W. filed for divorce. In December 1997 Thomas found out that the study had been terminated and Andy had been ordered to return to Houston. Andy refused and resigned from T***. With his personal funds he organized a shelter for poor people with AIDS who had been cast out from their families, and, in view of the promising initial results of the study, used the remaining stock of the T*** drug in an attempt to help the people in the shelter. Vicky helped in the shelter as a volunteer while keeping her job at WCH. As a fifth-year student Thomas had no Easter vacation. At home for the June vacation he learned that Vicky had tested HIV-positive, probably due to an accidental prick with a contaminated needle. Vicky was dismissed from WCH and moved in with Andy. According to a tradition going back to the German colonial days, a black woman who lives with a white man is regarded as having prostituted herself and disgraced her family and clan. Vicky (whose HIV-positive status was not yet generally known) was cast out from her family. After completing his medical studies in December 1998, Thomas, now Dr. Muphongo, returned home to begin his internship at WCH. Shortly thereafter, in February or March 1999, Vicky was rammed by a hit-and-run driver while riding her bicycle, in an apparent attempt on her life instigated by her family, though the incident was not prosecuted. She was brought to WCH by Andy, and Dr. Muphongo, who happened to be on duty at the time, treated her. It was then that he and Andy became friends. Vicky’s injuries were slight, but because her immune system was compromised by HIV, an infection set in that was difficult to treat. She was finally discharged in April or May. Immediately after Vicky’s discharge, she and Andy left Windhoek for an unknown destination. About two months later, in June or July, Andy returned to Windhoek clandestinely, without Vicky, but his presence was discovered. Dr. Muphongo does not know how. Andy was arrested on a charge of abduction with suspicion of murder. He would say nothing except that Vicky was in a safe place. He remained in prison while police were searching for Vicky. In February 2000 Vicky was found in hiding at a Catholic mission (Dr. Muphongo, who is Lutheran, does not remember of which order) about 200 km from Windhoek, near the Botswana border. Vicky asserted that she and Andy were married, and the priest of the mission confirmed the assertion, making the kidnapping charge moot. But she was at this point too ill to travel to Windhoek, and without her presence the prosecutor refused to drop the charge against Andy. Three months later, in June 2000 Vicky was finally able to go to Windhoek. Andy was released and ordered to leave Namibia immediately, never to return. Vicky returned to the mission. This was the last time that Dr. Muphongo saw either one of them. In 2003 Dr. Muphongo was accepted into the residency program in trauma medicine at UBCH. He had hoped to take advantage of his presence in North America to contact Andy Stone but has thus far been unsuccessful in locating him. Dr. Muphongo does not know the fate of Victoria (Vicky) Mawakena.