Julian idled in traffic, speed-dialing Ms. Blackwood’s number. The carrier came up blank, the caller was unreachable. He frowned; that had never happened before. She was always careful to carry a spare battery and charger, it was unlikely her phone had simply died.
“Well, that’s a dead end,” he mumbled, dialing the office. The secretary answered on the second ring, sending the number of the witch’s ex to his cell. After hanging up with her, Julian listened to the distant ringing. A smeary-voiced man answered six rings in.
“Hello?”
“Do I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Nanak Bhatnagar?”
“Who is this?” The man asked suspiciously, breath raspy on the line.
“A friend of your ex-wife’s. Have you had recent contact--” he hesitated for a moment interjected with a sound not unlike a sudden sob from the opposite end. “My daughter-!” Nanak moaned into the receiver, voice laden with emotion. “My Satya! They wouldn’t believe me -- they wouldn’t help her!”
“Who? Who wouldn’t help your daughter?” Julian asked patiently, becoming concerned.
“The police...anyone and everyone. She called me a week ago asking for help...,”
Slowly, the story unraveled, filling the gaps. Julian’s jaw tightened, he swerved into the opposite lane during a lull in the passage of vehicles. A chorus of honks followed his U-turn back up the boulevard. He sped back to Quinn’s apartment, all assumptions were off.