“Would you be able to go there, Matt, and ask some questions?” Dana asked.
“You, too, Gloria, in case there’s some … nitrogen … involved,” Elaine added.
I couldn’t have said it better.
We reached consensus that once we determined Phil’s movements when he left me, we’d make a decision about whether to make a formal police report. Matt had explained that in cases like this—an adult with no history of criminal behavior, not falling into any special at-risk category, like a person with Alzheimer’s—we could expect the police to enter a bulletin and a photo of Phil into their MUPS system within four hours.
“Missing unidentified persons,” Matt said. “It got started nationwide in the seventies after a particularly bad case where the police dragged their feet on an MP report, and … it didn’t turn out well.”
I could see that Matt was sorry he’d referred to a case with an unhappy ending.
“What will they do with the information?” Elaine asked. “Go out looking for him?”
“The system is monitored by investigators, maybe from the state, the DA’s office … I’m not sure how they do it in California. But, within that four hours, they’ll start the process. They check to see if he has outstanding warrants, for example, and if maybe he’s in custody somewhere.” Elaine smiled at this, but I couldn’t see how we could rule anything out. “Then they’ll start calling hospitals, ERs, and so on.”
I figured “and so on” meant morgues.
I looked at Dana and felt sure she had the same thought.
“How awkward is this going to be?” I asked Matt on the way to Dorman Industries. After a too brief respite, the heat wave had returned, and even in the late afternoon we needed the Saab’s air conditioner. I raised my voice to be heard over the noisy fan. “I’m sure when Elaine queried the secretaries she did it in a way that didn’t reveal she’s essentially lost her fiance.”
“I think we just ask the questions and accept that this might be embarrassing to Elaine or Phil.”
Though I was driving Elaine’s car and not mine or Matt’s—our usual classroom venue—it seemed the right time and place for a nitrogen lesson. We’d had some of our best tutorial sessions in our cars, riding to or from an interview—and once or twice on a stakeout.
“It makes the science seem less of a commitment,” Matt had told me. “And it’s less likely that there’ll be homework or pop quizzes.”
I ignored the slur against science education.
“The two most common forms of nitrogen are N2, which is the most abundant element in our atmosphere—”
“And number seven on the periodic table.”
“Very good. And the second form is N3, which is highly explosive. A nitrogen fullerene—sixty atoms of nitrogen arranged in the shape of a soccer ball—would be an oddity, but a welcome one.”
“Because … ?”
“Because nitrogen bonding is so tight, when it’s broken, the explosive power of the molecule would be dazzling.”
“Did you know that there are some people who use the word ‘dazzling’ to describe a piece of jewelry, or the performance of an Olympic-medal-winning skater?”
“Would you rather be with one of those people right now?”
“Not on your life.”
Keeping my eye on the road, I was sure I’d missed a dazzling smile.
“As I told you in lesson one the other day, the energy released this way could be the basis for either a new weapon or a really novel nitrogen-based fuel—think supersonic transport. Either way, there’d be a lot at stake in the competition to produce this molecule.”
Matt reached over and put his hand on my knee. He’d waited till we were stopped at a light on University Avenue. Not to disturb my accelerator foot, I guessed.
“Do you think all lovers talk this way?” he asked.
I felt my face flush, and nearly missed the green light, but didn’t stop the lesson.
“Last I heard, people were working on the possibility of joining six ten-atom nitrogen molecules into the soccer-ball shape. We’ll have to check on the progress next time we’re online.”
“This is sounding like homework,” Matt said.
I smiled, and reluctantly gave up on the nitrogen tutorial when we saw the address we were looking for on a large white stucco building. Various signage indicated that Dorman Industries and several other consulting firms had quarters in what looked like a restored factory building. We were in the neighborhood a few blocks north of Bette’s Diner, an area that had once been a bustling manufacturing center. It was heartening to see that many of the structures had been converted to useful space for retail outlets, offices, and artists’ studios.