I had better get a move on on this one.
“Didn’t Oswald Feeney show up for work on Friday?” Bernice asked Greg as they went back to their car.
“That’s what the timesheets said,” agreed Greg. “Whether or not they’re accurate is another story. Nobody actually saw Feeney that day, and he didn’t have any group meetings. Guy never ate lunch with anybody, either, so that angle’s out.”
“Right, and he commuted in, so good luck finding somebody on his train who’d remember, either way.” Bernice sighed. “The poor guy was a target, wasn’t he?”
“With a big, flashing light over him saying, ABDUCT ME.” Greg started the engine. “Which makes me wonder if he was a trap.”
“A trap? You mean, one we were setting?” Bernice scowled. “That can’t be true! They’d never deliberately let a bunch of gold-witches sprout. Somebody could have gotten infected. Besides: even if this is one of our operations, why would they have us investigate it blind?”
“The easy answer to both questions is, they wouldn’t,” replied Greg, his eyes checking the rear-view mirrors regularly. “If you assume that ‘they’ means ‘the head Inquisitors.’ We may be dealing with some people who are a little more informal. You buckled in?”
Bernice’s response heartened him; she automatically checked her belt and her gun. “Yes, sir.”
“Greg’s fine. And hang on.”