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The consultant in question is a former FBI contractor, specialized in facial recognition, whom I called to check on the pictures of the stalker and pictures of Ben, added in to confirm my suspicions about the guy.
He enters my office chaperoned by Nena, a slender, stern looking man in his forties, and I stand up immediately to offer my hand.
“Dev Prashanda, I assume?” I say as he shakes my hand.
“And you are Mr. Brody Garrison,” his grip is firm, “Pleased to meet you.”
“Please take a seat,” I say, sitting back as well. He follows suit. “Were you able to find any similarities between the pictures?”
Dev places the folder he was carrying over my desk, opens it, and hands me the pages inside. What I see there is a comparison of the three pictures I sent him - the one from the night of the blackout of the thief that I took with my phone, the one from the video on the show, and a pic from Ben’s social media, given to me from Sandra.
“What am I looking at?” I ask, paying close attention.
“I compared bone structure on all three of the pictures, plus several others I’ve found on social media, both from this Bartleby Jones avatar, and from this Ben Horowitz guy. With 89% accuracy I can tell the three pictures are from the same man. If you are going to call the police, there’s a signed testimony of mine in the back, with my credentials, experience and references, so it serves as legal evidence.”
“Amazing,” I say, impressed. I look at the testimony and realize that the man has multiple degrees from prestigious Ivy Leagues.
“Are you available to perform a live testimony if needed?”
“Of course,” Dev nods, “but it’s rarely necessary.”
I nod in return. “Is your invoice with finance already?”
“Yes! I was paid this morning, Mr. Garrison,” he says with a small smile. “Do you have any more questions?”
“Not for now,” I organize the pages back into the folder. “I’ll accompany you to the door.”
It's only when I walk Dev out that I notice how the office is well populated at this hour. People coming, people going, people furiously typing on their computers, speaking on phones, being productive.
And all I really want to do is be out there and find the man harassing Lily. A function that, maybe, I should delegate.
Not long after Mr. Prashanda is gone, I leave to go meet Sandra and text her that I’m heading over.
On the way there, I try to distract myself with the idea of trying that bistro near her place. I had always wanted to try it and haven’t been able to yet. But my thoughts keep going back to Lily's question and the answer I owe her.
When I arrive at Sandra’s apartment building, she’s already waiting for me downstairs.
“What is so important that you need to talk to me so urgently?” she asks while coming in.
“You’ll see,” I say, coming across as more mysterious than I intended.
Sandra looks at me with curious eyes, fixes her hair in the visor mirror and says, “So… Is it serious?”
Quietly seething, I reply as calmly as I can, “I’m not doing that girl any wrong. Don’t worry.”
She smiles almost imperceptibly, “She’s naive, Brody. A real country girl. If she’s truly pregnant that will put a halt to her career. Will you be there for her?”
I grunt, feeling the urge to slam my head against the wheel, but containing myself. “Sandra, you know quite well I don’t walk away from responsibilities. A child is the biggest responsibility you can have, and I will certainly not let anyone down in that regard. Have I let Eric down?”
“No,” she admits, “the kid adores you.”
“So!” I shout, then continue, much softer, “I know this is your love for Lily speaking, but don’t worry, okay? I’ll… I’ll be there.”
“Thank you, Brody,” Sandra says, a hand on my shoulder.
We get to the bistro. Thankfully, there’s a valet service, so I just leave my keys and we go inside to be seated.
“Can you tell me now, what’s so important?” she insists as we get to our table.
