Harp pointed toward the passenger side of the truck. Sitting on the bench seat was the padded envelope Callie had given Harp back in Sausalito. Logan could see the copy of Lost Horizon sitting just inside it. He picked up the package and passed it to his dad.

“Thank you,” Harp said, clutching it with one arm against his torso.

Logan could see a million thoughts and emotions racing through his father’s eyes. He wished he knew the right thing to say, something that would get his father to open up and talk, but he was afraid anything he might try would cause Harp to clam up completely.

So Logan simply smiled and said, “No problem.”

Joe Fulkerson’s office was in an old, brown, brick building several miles from the university. The sign on the door said FNR Investigations, and it appeared to take up half of the fourth floor.

Logan waited in the lobby for less than two minutes before an older Latina led him into the inner workings of FNR. The few single offices he saw were along the outside walls, taking up prime window territory. Most of the employees, though, seemed to work in a large bullpen area of high walled cubicles.

Fulkerson was not in a cubicle. He had a corner office that looked toward the smog-hidden mountains. His desk was an old metal monstrosity that seemed out of place with the rest of the furnishings. Joe was sitting behind the desk, squinting at a computer monitor. He was a thin, middle-aged man who’d buzzed what little hair he had left on his head as close to his skin as he could without shaving it off. It was what Joaquin back at Dunn Right liked to call the full Captain Picard.

“Mr. Fulkerson?” the woman said. “This is Mr. Harper.”

Fulkerson immediately rose from his chair, a large smile appearing on his face. With unnecessary enthusiasm, he came around the desk and extended his hand.

“Mr. Harper. Thanks for coming down.”