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Not long after your dad died.” He took a slow drink, his face impassive. “He was here, in the city, for a few days.”
    “Really. Business?”
    Hebron snorted. He ran his finger again in a semi-circle over the top of his beer can. “We never had any dealings that weren’t business, Jonny. Okay? He was helping you on those stories about Africa, wasn’t he?”
    “Possibly.”
    “Thought so. Well, as I say: If Charlie doesn’t want to be found, I really don’t think you and I are going to find him.” He stared at Jon as if to underline a point, then went back to his beer, finished it. “I was surprised he wasn’t here for your dad’s funeral.”
    “I was, too. He must’ve had good reason.”
    “Must’ve.”
    Jon watched Hebron watching him. Jon’s father had suffered from heart disease for several years, but his death eight months earlier had been sudden, the circumstances still not settled in Jon’s mind.
    Gus Hebron elaborately got up and took Jon’s half-empty beer. “I keep thinking this’ll be the year,” he said, coming back out, holding up two more cold ones.
    “Pardon?”
    “For the ’Skins. Been that way for some time now, hasn’t it?” He handed a Bud Light to Jon and rubbed his belly. “You know, you invest your energy into something each year and each year it doesn’t happen. Makes a man begin to lose his faith a little bit.”
    “I guess.”
    Hebron stared at his beer can, a bemused look in his eyes. Then he launched into a soliloquy about the Redskins. He seemed a little drunk all of a sudden. When Jon Mallory said he should be going, Hebron held up his hand.
    “I’ll give you two tips about your brother,” he said. “All I can tell you. All I’m
going
to tell you.”
    “All right.”
    Jon stood and waited, wondering what was up.
    “Do you know what D.M.A. stands for?”
    “No. Never was able to find out.”
    “You might try a little harder.”
    He winked.
    “Second?”
    “Second, and more importantly: I know that your brother had done business with a company called Olduvai Charities. He mentioned it, anyway, during our last conversation. It’s based in East Africa but has some sort of connection in the States, and in China. Something about it bothered him.”
    “Ol-du-vay?”
    “Olduvai. As in Olduvai Gorge. Birthplace of mankind, supposedly. Okay? Now, you didn’t hear that from me. And if you say you did, I deny we ever had this conversation. All right? And I want you to call me as soon as you hear that he’s okay. You promise me that?”
    “All right.” Gus Hebron walked him toward the door, grinning at something again, his arm going to Jon’s back several times.
What is really going on here?
he wondered.
    “Anyway, good to see you, Jonny.”
    “Sure.”
    “I want you to find your brother.”
    “I do, too.”
    “Hey, you have a long ride back. You want to use the facilities, be myguest. Right in here.” He pushed open a door and flicked on the lights. Like the chandelier in the living room, they were a little too bright.
    “Thanks.” Jon pulled the door closed. The bathroom was immaculate, other than a crumpled sixteen-ounce Bud Light can in the trash basket. It smelled of clean towels, hand-soap, and disinfectant. A full floor-to-ceiling mirror faced him as he urinated. There was another mirror on his right behind the sink. Jon glanced at himself in both; his eyes looked tired; he was in need of a shave. Then, preferring not to look, he turned his eyes away, focusing on what he was doing.
    Afterward, he washed his hands and glanced at himself again. Dried his hands absently. Then he turned off the light and put on a cordial face to say goodbye.
    GUS HEBRON WATCHED from a darkened bedroom window as Jon Mallory eased his sky-blue Camry out of the drive. His eyes followed the red taillights as they became more distant, turned right, and disappeared behind a row of large brick houses. He bolted the front door and turned off the porch light, walked to the